


Boys On The Verge (of a Nervous Breakdown)

by mellowafers



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: ChurchTarts must be protected at all costs, I'll add them to the tags if they ever pop up lol, M/M, McPriceley is canon, POV Chris, Post-Canon, Right?, Slow-ish burn, a bromance to rival Kevin and Arnold, acquaintances to friends, but still in Uganda, friends to ;), james is smol, most of the Elders are just kind of background noise, three cheers for Connor/Chris bromance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13872405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowafers/pseuds/mellowafers
Summary: James swallows softly, and Chris follows the movement of his throat with wide eyes.  He can see a fleck of a crumb on James’ upper lip, and he wants nothing more than to wipe it away with his —with my what, oh my god I think I'm too close should I move backwards holy s h i t"Jesus, I hope Kev and I don't look like that when we share food," there's a dry voice from Chris' left, and he jerks backwards. For once,he'sthe flushed one, eyes down on the table and ignoring the "hey" of offence from Kevin and the "ha" from Davis, painfully aware of his companion out the corner of his eye, staring at him, anddammit, Con, why do you have to butt into everything.





	1. Connor is mildly (very) bothersome

**Author's Note:**

> This has literally nothing to do with the film/musical Women On The Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios), and in fact, hopefully no one shall have a nervous breakdown throughout the course of this fic (apart from myself and idk Kevin probably), but my bois are cute and James is nervous and I thought this is a pretty sweet title so fight me :) :)

“Chris. Christopher. Poptarts. Chris, for the love of God. Stop being such a little bitch.”

Chris sighs, and keeps his eyes shut. He’s lying on one of the two sofas in what has been officially designated as the Living Room of the mission hut, one foot on the floor and the other propped up on the armrest, which Connor is leaning on. The early evening sun is peeking in through half-drawn blinds of the small window at the front of the room, making the inside of Chris’ eyelids a pinky-orange colour, and setting a relatively calm, still atmosphere as background for Connor’s whining.

Chris absent-mindedly fans his face with a piece of scrap cardboard, choosing to ignore his mission companion ( _well, we’re not really mission companions anymore, more like roommates_ ) in favour of focusing on the damp heat, and the sound of the decades-old electric fan buzzing weakly in the corner, completely out of tune with the buzzing of flies outside the door. 

Despite it being nearly 6pm, and the fact that three months ago, Connor, at long last, approved of the ditching of those completely unfashionable, totally-unsuitable-for-Ugandan-summer-anyway Mormon uniforms, so that Chris is currently lounging in shorts and a tank top, he can still feel damp sweat rolling down the side of his face and onto his neck. The backs of his legs and shoulders are sticking uncomfortably to the cheap fabric of the sofa, his skin feeling clammy, but they're all kind of used to it now. He can hear Arnold and Nabulungi in the distance, somewhere outside the hut, shrieking with laughter ( _as per_ ). Somewhere beyond the gentle drone of insects and crackling electricity there’s the general chatter of villagers going about their Friday evening. Chris has never felt so at home somewhere before. It is a strange thought to have, given the _complete and utter disaster_ their mission was at the start, but now that it’s less of a mission and more of a hey-let’s-just-help-this-village-get-on-their-feet-a-bit, combined with the being pretty much fully integrated into the community, Chris never wants to leave. 

Connor is becoming incessant, _is he even breathing between his words holy shit_ , and there are _so many_ words coming out of his mouth right now. Chris finds himself unintentionally tuning back in.

“…Chris, c’mooooon, Kevin and I have been wanting to do something just the two of us for _aaages_ now, and Schrader and Michaels have already asked Mafala and Davis to help them with setting up decorations and lights outside, so Church won’t have anyone to help him bake Arnold’s surprise birthday cake or prep any of the food, and Naba’s already committed to keeping Arnold away from the hut until the evening, and come _on_ Chris, it would really be _so generous_ of you, if you could just do this for me, pretty please—“

“Oh my God, Connor, FINE,” Chris finally snaps, sitting bolt upright, causing Connor to yelp and leap backwards from the couch.

“… Wait. Really?”

“Yes, God, just…” Chris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I’ve never actually hung out with Elder Church before, he’s kinda… quiet, you know?” He opens his eyes. “You’re gonna owe me a huge favour, I really wanted to go into town this weekend.” 

Chris isn’t really that bothered at all by either of these things. Sure, he’s never _actually_ had a conversation with James Church before, and he _does_ seem pretty quiet ( _understatement_ ), but he’s tolerable ( _not that Chris would really know, but he's presumably more tolerable than Connor and Kevin when they’re together, at least_ ); and, yes, he _had_ kind of wanted to go into the city tomorrow, to soak in the busy atmosphere and to have a say in the purchase of last minute food and drinks, for this totally-unnecessary-completely-last-minute surprise party Kevin had set his heart on for Arnold, and which Connor had, in true ex-District Leader fashion, taken a charge of.

No, Christopher Thomas isn't fussed by either of these things. If he was being completely honest with himself, he just got a kick out of winding the golden couple up. If Kevin Price was annoying before, then he is _completely insufferable_ now, sleeping in Connor and Chris’ room every other night when Arnold and Naba are in his room, keeping Chris up long into the night with their giggling and whispering, revelling in PDA that really put Arnold and Naba to shame ( _I could go on_ ). And Chris is convinced that, at least half the time, they’re both doing it solely to get on his nerves. This was really one of Chris’ _many_ half-hearted attempts of going, no, _fuck the pair of you_.

His companion beams, and walks round the front of the sofa to reach forward and ruffle his hair, causing Chris to grumble. “Aw, you’re the best Chris, I’ll even buy you extra poptarts to make up for it,” he coos. “Anyway, Church is just _lovely_ , I’m sure you’ll have a grand old time together! I know he’s a… bit on the quiet side, but all you have to do bake a damn cake! No conversation is required!” He sounds far too happy about this. _Dick_. 

Chris relaxes back into the couch, and wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts, letting his eyes slide shut again. “Gee, Con, when you put it like that, it sounds so easy, doesn’t it? Hey, maybe baking a cake would be a cute couple activity for you and _Elder Price_ , how about that?” 

Connor leaps into the now-free space on the sofa next to him before Chris realises that he actually wanted to lie back down, waving his hand dismissively. “Now you’re just being ridiculous, Chris,” he says, matter-of-fact-ly, “but I'm nonetheless certain that Elder Church would _love_ to do a cute couple activity with you." Chris' scowl deepens _what is that supposed to mean, Connor_. "Anyway, you know that Kevin literally cannot use the oven, even if his own life depended on it. I've had to ban him.” 

_Okay_ , Chris has to concede, that yes, last time Kevin Price had tried to bake… _something_ , and nobody had ever really figured out what the heck the guy had been trying to make, _I’m pretty sure whatever it was, it wasn’t supposed to be that shade of black_ , it had taken over three days before the lingering smell of smoke finally diminished to a level that people could actually breathe in the kitchen. 

Connor undoes the top button of his polo shirt and nabs the piece of cardboard from Chris’ hand in one deft movement to fan himself as well. For once, Chris decides not to respond to Connor's teasing (and generally annoying demeanour), choosing instead just to soak in the casualness of it all. He wallows again in that sensation of _this is home_.

“Did I hear something about a cute couple activity for us?” Enter Kevin Price, stage right, with a giggling Arnold and Nabalungi behind him. Chris opens his eyes and sighs for what must be the millionth time of the day. 

_All I wanted was to sit on the sofa for ten minutes by myself. Ten minutes. How is privacy not a thing anymore?_

Connor leaps up again, _how does he have so much energy_ , all but skipping over to Kevin to peck him gently on the lips. “Poptarts said he’ll help Church tomorrow, with, uh, fixing that thing, that, um, broke,” _smooth, Connor_ , “so you can have the other seat on the bus to Kampala, and join me in shopping for supplies for the school,” he winks. 

Kevin smiles giddily at him, before turning to shoot an enthusiastic thumbs up in Chris’ direction and a totally inconspicuous _totally conspicuous_ wink. Chris just rolls his eyes, and stands to stretch his arms over his head, popping his shoulders loudly and making the other four shudder.

“That’s fucking _gross_ , Elder Poptarts,” Nabalungi remarks, because Naba’s very matter-of-fact like that, but Chris kind of loves her for it. Arnold nods fervently in agreement, clearly not actually absorbing her words, staring at her like the words she’d just spoken held the answer to the life, the universe, everything. If Con and Kevin are the golden couple, then Arnold and Naba are definitely the platinum couple. Connor literally could have spilled the beans about the surprise birthday party there and then, and Arnold probably would not have noticed. 

Chris lazily flips Naba off, much to Connor’s chagrin, but Naba responds in kind, and Kevin chuckles, and it’s all disturbingly domestic. 

Chris moves to sit at the table in the adjoining kitchen, along with Arnold and Naba, as Connor and Kevin start bickering over who should make the dinner tonight. He pretends to be interested as the pair launch into a _simply hilarious oh what are we like_ tale about their adventure to chase off some stray gazelles from the village centre. He nods and _hmm_ s in all the right places (he thinks) as he silently mourns the loss of his Saturday in Kampala; he’ll miss the market and the action and the general busy-ness of a large city, as he resigns himself to his _baking_ with Elder Church. James. Church. Whatever. 

It’s still a struggle to think of the other ex-Elders by their forenames. Despite the fact that they have officially been non-LDS for most of their time here, _and shall I blame Kevin or Arnold for that_ , Chris still has to make a conscious effort not to call them “Elder” all the time. Connor’s different, because they’re best friends, and Kevin and Arnold just have these big, _over-whelming_ personalities that it’s difficult to think of them formally at all, and of course there are the villagers that have joined their "church", but Chris feels comfortable enough with them now that there's no point in assigning them titles in his head. Yet, the rest of them are just… 

Chris can’t look at Michaels or Schrader or even the bubbly _call me Matthew!_ Davis and see anything other than the Elders than they were when they first arrived, albeit sans ties and shirts, and with the addition of staying up past midnight sipping on beer and wine and laughing heartily about whatever boys in that weird age between nineteen and twenty laugh about.

It certainly doesn’t help in Church’s case that he is the only one out of the entire group to persist in wearing his white shirt all the time anyway, in some sort of weird, last ditch solo attempt to stick to some of the rules. To be fair, he did relent and started wearing above the knee shorts exactly nine weeks ago, _not that I noticed_. Still, Chris will readily admit that every morning, when he bounds eagerly into the kitchen for breakfast, it's not just the thought of having a poptart that's got him in such a good mood, but he's also hopeful to see Church wearing _anything_ else. Every day he’s disappointed. 

And speak — _well, think_ — of the devil, into the room wanders Davis and Church themselves, looking ever so slightly lost, no doubt wondering if dinner is being made yet, and Chris allows his gaze to pass lazily over the slim brunette for the first time that day.

James Church doesn’t make a huge effort to talk with his fellow Elders, Chris has noticed over the past six months. He’s definitely heard him talk, yes, and he seems, for all intent and purpose, to be a relatively normal, chipper human being, who chooses to stay quiet at the edge of conversations and interject the occasional sentence here and there; just enough that people recognise him as part of the group, but not enough that anyone here (presumably with the exception of Davis) know any personal facts about him. 

_Well_ , Chris thinks, _maybe Connor's not completely wrong about the whole couple thing, I mean, maybe I can drag some conversation out of this boy for a change_ , and he's so stuck on this thought that he almost misses Church looking up.

Aaand yup, there’s some deliciously awkward eye contact, which Chris _totally_ fails to register until the other has gone completely red and he’s already looking at the floor, shifting awkwardly from his spot between Davis and the door. 

Chris smiles inwardly, and continues to stare, completely unabashed, resting his chin on one hand. This has been a daily occurrence, since the very beginning of their mission; Church will stand at the side, friendly, Mormon-esque smile plastered on, but staying quiet, and when Chris inevitably gets bored of the conversation, he will look over, and stare, intensely enough that eventually Church must feel it, because he always looks up as well and blinks, once, twice, hard, before looking away, tips of his ears flushed. 

_Nothing like making a cute boy flustered to make the day seem complete_ , Chris muses, and that makes him finally avert his gaze away, down to his hands in his own private embarrassment. _Not that James Church is a cute boy_. (Author Note — he totally is)

Then there’s a bang, and _at last_ Connor has dropped something ( _inevitable_ ); a pot, it sounds like, in what Chris is sure was a valiant attempt to begin cooking some rice, and Kevin is fretting over him like a mother hen, and now Naba is stepping in to take charge (“oh my hero,” Connor bats his eyelashes; “stupid white boy,” Naba rolls her eyes), and Kevin clips Connor fondly round the head. All in all, it’s a relatively normal evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to right a cute wee 2k Churchtarts oneshot bc there's really not enough of those in the world, and my finger slipped and I genuinely wrote like 8000 words last night, woops :) 
> 
> Long time fan, first time writer :O the bad news is, I can't come up with a plot for shit. The good news is, I am very willing to write thousands of words of these two lovely bois staring at each other longingly so there's that. I have a beginning (obvs) and an end, I just gotta work on a juicy wee multi-chapter middle, which shall 100% just follow the drill for most of the BoM fics out there :) hurray for no unique ideas! I'll probs be updating around once a week, maybe twice if I decide not to do any of my real-world assignments (which is always a possibility). Also, stuff in italics is Chris' internal thoughts if that wisnae clear 
> 
> I was hesitant to put a rating on this bc I can't decide if I'm gonna be writing el smut or not (depends how much this fic runs away from me), I'm putting it as T for now just for language I guess but I may change to M 
> 
> I want to shoutout to "Poptarts Flavours" by AppleBlossoms, I love your characters in there and I love shy Elder Church and that is totally not what inspired me to write this ... 
> 
> Disclaimer that if Elder Davis has a real/fandom name then I was unaware/am ignoring it :o 
> 
> Finally, I am completely aware of the situation for members of the LGBT community in Uganda, and it totally breaks my heart. For general plot reasons I'm not really touching on that much; i think fandom has it anyway that the village the Elders are in is pretty chill, but I just wanted to mention that it's a thing we should all keep in the backs of our minds at the very least.


	2. Connor isn't even in this chapter and he's annoying

Chris is up early on Saturday morning. Not intentionally, of course, but once he is awake, he is awake, and after enduring Connor whistling _It’s A Hard Knock Life_ at an impossibly loud volume at 6.30am ( _“If Kev and I are to be back here in time to help finish setting up for the party tonight, then we have to leave early to get to Kampala” “Yes, but that doesn’t explain why you’re_ whistling, _Connor” “Don’t give me any of that sass, Chris”_ ), he resigns himself to the fact that he’s not getting back to sleep.

After an hour of lying on his bed staring blankly at the ceiling, not yet ready to face the outside world, he wanders lazily into the living room/kitchen, still just in his boxers and old Christian band tee _cos I was such a hardcore Mormon like six months ago; I still can't believe how much has changed_.

He’s surprised to find the kitchen already occupied. As far as he was aware, none of the others were early risers on weekends (anymore). 

Who should be sitting at the kitchen table but James Church, facing the doorway but head bowed, clenching a cup of tar-like coffee in one hand and turning the pages of a large, dusty book with the other. Chris can see even from this angle that his brows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip in concentration, humming ever so softly to himself. It’s a tune Chris thinks he recognises, but he’s not sure; in any case, it’s far easier to listen to than Connor. 

The air in the room is calm and still, at a mild temperature. Church looks serene, shoulders relaxed, fingers playing idly with the corner of the page. The early morning sun peeking in through the window casts a soft yellow glow across one side of his face. Chris could stand in the doorway and stare all day. _Not cos he’s kinda… nice-looking_ , he reasons with himself, but just because it feels like a private moment.

He is almost completely entranced, and when he finally cottons on to the fact that Church is not wearing his blindingly white shirt at all, but is dressed similarly to Chris, in a loose red tank top that hangs off his shoulders and highlights the curve of his collar bone, he feels his insides grow warm. Deciding that that was probably a good place to stop staring, _stop staring, Chris_ , he finally makes an entrance.

“You’re not wearing your ‘Elder’ shirt,” Chris forgoes formalities as he strolls casually through the living area into the kitchen, acting like it’s a completely offhand comment about something he just _happened_ to notice, and not about something he thinks about nearly every day. 

“Oh, E-Elder Poptarts! I— goodness, you gave me a fright,” Church jolts, the hand holding the mug jerking, causing a splash of liquid to land on the table and make a small pool on the wood. “I— no, you don’t think that I actually wear that shirt _all_ the time, do you?” he jokes weakly, his reddening ears and generally ruffled demeanour betraying his awkwardness. Chris _should_ feel guilty, but he feels kinda proud that he’s had this effect on someone. 

Chris selects a poptart packet from an overhead cupboard, _the only way to start the day correctly_ , facing away from Church and smirking to himself. He delicately places two in the toaster, and turns back to the other boy, keeping his features carefully schooled. Church’s attention is back on the book in front of him, but the way he’s still playing nervously with the corner of the page makes Chris think that he’s probably not reading anymore.

Chris grabs a threadbare tea towel from where it hangs on a loose nail, _very hygienic_ , as he moves in four confident strides from kitchen counter around table to stand just behind Church.

“No worries, I’ve got it,” he says, brightly, leaning over Church’s shoulder from behind to wipe at the presumably forgotten about coffee that was spilled, and Church stiffens up. The backs of his ears are _scarlet_ now. 

“U-um, thanks, I guess… Elder,” he mumbles, and Chris moves to fling the towel in the sink.

“You know, we dropped the whole “Elder” thing a while ago, you can just call me Poptarts. Everyone else does,” he says conversationally, and plants himself in the seat _right next to Church_ , who finally looks up again, “or even just Chris is fine.” He punctuates his sentence with a wink, just to see if — _yeah he’s blushing even more and_ now _he's looking away, isn’t this fun_. “Whatcha reading, anyhow?”

“Oh, well, uh, this is an old recipe book I borrowed from one the Sisters in the village, I have to do this cake for Elder— for Arnold’s birthday thing later, so, I was, uh, checking the ingredients, I guess,” Church speaks quietly and rushed, eyes still on the page, but his cheeks are a bit less rosy now that they’re no longer making eye contact and his attention is on baking. 

“Oh yes, I was meant to be helping you with that! If, that’s chill with you, of course?” Chris doesn’t wait for an answer, and peers at the page in question, scooting his chair an inch closer and causing Church’s cheeks to redden again. “You think we have all this?”

“W-well, I mean, we should have the basic stuff nearby, and Elder McKinley said he’d get stuff to decorate it from the city. I think — well, I was thinking we might even have enough to make some more, like some cookies or something, but… I’m not sure…” Church says absently, beginning to lose himself in his own thoughts. He goes to sip from his coffee, and Chris follows the movement of his hand from resting on the table to bringing the cup to his mouth. He feels himself involuntarily swallow when Church does.

Church looks at him, then, catching him staring, and Chris beams sunnily at him. Church almost drops his coffee again, in his haste to look back down.

Chris allows the smile to drop from his face as he continues to stare at him side-on for just another two seconds, committing his silhouette to memory before the toaster pops and he has a far more important task to accomplish other than looking at pretty boys. 

He really isn’t so sure why he’s so interested in Church, or even when his interest was first peaked. There’s just… _something_ about him that Chris can’t put his finger on. Something about the way everyone knows that they enjoy his company, but when asked, they probably couldn’t tell you anything about what James Church is actually _like_. Or maybe it’s just the way he’s the only one hanging on to any of their old traditions, for no obvious reason. 

_Yeah, that’s it_ , Chris thinks, _nothing to do with the way he seems to have the ability to look others in the eye, but when it comes to me, he becomes this weird, blinky mess._

Chris is saved from his thoughts by Naba skipping into the room, wearing her classic blue dress, just as Chris is plating up his breakfast and is turning back to the table, seating himself in the place opposite James this time. 

“Hey, Naba, how’s it hanging?” Chris shoots her a friendly smile, which she returns as she wanders over to stand next to him.

“I am very well, Poptarts, I am here to take Arnold away for a day of birthday activities,” she says, smiling toothily. “My father will be here in the afternoon to help you boys with putting up lights outside, because you are all _too fucking short,_ ” her tone of voice is exceedingly bright, as she pinches Chris’ cheek to punctuate the words “too” and “fucking” and “short”. Chris scowls and shoves her playfully away.

“I’m, like, the same height as you, Naba.”

“Yes, and I’m a short girl,” she retorts, and Chris hears Church let out an uncharacteristic snort of laughter, which he tries (and fails) to cover with a cough. “ _Anyway_ ,” she continues before Chris can return with… _well, I’m sure there’s a totally cool comeback for that, I just don’t have it_ , “I told Connor that we would be back by 5pm, which gives you the whole day to prepare for tonight!” 

Chris bites into his poptart, nodding. “Mm, that’s great — Church and I are gonna bake some stuff, I think, and then if there’s anything left to do then we’ll help outside, cos I’m _totally tall enough._ ” 

Naba doesn’t deign that with a response, just rolls her eyes at Church as if to say, _this guy, huh?_ and strides out the room.

“Do you wanna get started as soon as they’re gone? Give us more time to chill afterwards before helping the others outside?” Chris asks through a mouthful of poptart.

“Sure.” Church pauses, fidgeting as if debating his next words. “And it’s James, by the way.” Chris blinks. 

“Pardon?”

“I— I mean, if I get to call you Chris, th-then you should call me James. Right?” Church clenches his fist nervously as he focuses on a point just behind Chris’ shoulder.

Chris smiles. “Sure thing, James.” 

———

The pair don’t actually get started baking until nearly noon. 

Chris had been busy faffing in his room picking out a nice shirt for the party, only to realise they were all _not nice_ , and so was then busy tearing through Connor’s half of their cupboard to find borrow one of _his_ shirts, only to realise _none of these are clean, none of them, do you ever wash your clothes Connor oh my god_ , so _then_ he was busy laundering all of Connor’s clothes _because I am a kind, selfless, generous friend, and Connor doesn’t deserve me_ and scowling at the washing machine, _it should not take this long to complete one cycle, I hate Uganda so much_. Before he knew it, somehow four hours had passed and the morning was nearly gone. 

(James Church, meanwhile, was too polite to go and find Chris, and so _he_ spent _his_ morning perched on a sofa in the living room, twiddling his thumbs and listening to his own companion, Matthew, drone on and on about one of Naba’s friends, _do you think she’ll come to the party tonight, James?_ for far longer than he was comfortable with.)

When they’re _finally_ alone in the kitchen, Chris is suddenly excited. They’re not in any danger of being disturbed, not for a while, at least, and this feels kinda… _I don’t know_. They’re both still in their pyjamas, with Chris making the executive decision that there’s no point in messing up any of their actual clothes. Doing tasks in the kitchen in what’s essentially your underwear definitely gives the whole scene a sort of domestic, marriage-y feel. _This must be the kind of thing married couples do together before they go to church on a Sunday_. 

Once _that_ thought is in his head, it’s stuck there. It doesn’t help now that he has official permission to call Church _James_ ; it makes it seem all the more… weirdly intimate. Whilst Chris is lost in his own mind, Church gets started on setting out ingredients and bowls, still too polite to actually ask for help.

Church — no, _James_ — may as well be wearing a pure white, three piece suit, what with the complete lack of mess that he’s making; cracking eggs deftly with one hand and pouring flour from cup to scales to bowl with the other, without any of it spilling over the side. 

Chris, on the other hand, feeling completely out of his element, has cracked three eggs straight onto the table in the first five minutes, and gained a streak of butter all the way up one arm. _We haven’t even gotten to the butter yet how is this possible._

“I take it you don’t bake often,” James says, finally taking the initiative to start a polite conversation. Chris looks up from where he’s standing by the sink, washing his hands for the second time since they started.

“Is it that obvious?” he grins, cheekily, and James shrugs shyly, focussed now on weighing the butter and adding it to the bowl. Eager for the conversation not to end just yet, Chris continues. 

“Nah, my sister used to be the one to bake, but she… well, nobody else really bakes at home, anymore, so. This is kinda new, I guess,” he says, keeping his tone light, but Ch- _James_ must hear a twinge of morose in his voice, because he finally looks up from where he’s beginning to mix.

“O-oh, God, I didn’t mean to pry, I’m sor—“

“Don’t apologise,” Chris says, quickly, drying his hands and walking back over to stand by the other’s side. “It’s fine, it was a while ago, and… I still don’t want to think about it too much, but…. this is fine,” he says, and he means it. 

It _has_ been a long time since he’s mentioned his sister in any conversation, even with Connor. Even though they’re not “turning it off” anymore, once Chris starts thinking about her, then he starts over-thinking, and that just leads to an endless trail of misery. Little things like this though, he reckons, might help him to eventually, properly, open up about it. _Eventually._

James has a completely unreadable expression on his face, like he wants to apologise again, or ask more questions, but eventually he just looks back down to the bowl.

“I, uh… I understand. Completely,” he says, voice quiet, and Chris believes him. 

“Right, ok, well. Thanks. I mean, I don’t know what for, but… thank you, for… understanding,” Chris punctuates that _completely normal human sentence, well done Chris_ with a smile, which James hesitantly returns, with a quiet “ok,” and the air feels a bit lighter.

They spend the next hour continuing with the _safe_ chit-chat, as James finishes prepping what Chris is positive will be an amazing cake. Chris ends up being less of a helping hand and more of a bit of comic relief for James’ enjoyment, but neither of them seem to mind this.

They end up with enough leftover ingredients that James also ends up making not one but two batches of cookies as well, whilst Chris watches. They couldn’t find any chocolate chips, which makes Chris think, _well, what’s the point_ , but James insists that using raisins will taste just as nice. Chris doesn’t believe a word of it, but he can’t help but nod upon hearing James speak with such gentle conviction.

“Are you looking forward to the party tonight, then?” Chris says lazily, after he’s successfully helped in one task — putting the cake in the oven, _although God knows how long that’ll take, nothing in this damn house seems to work_.

James shrugs, concentrating more on dividing the cookie mixture into even portions. “I’m not really a party person, I probably won’t… you know, drink or anything,” he says, absently.

Chris nods, and lays half his body across the table from where he’s sitting, chin resting on folded arms. “I think it’ll be good. Or at least, better than my high school prom.” He pauses, indulging for a second in the memory of _ah, prom_ , and at James’ quizzical eyebrow he continues. “My date broke up with me, like, halfway through, during one of those slow dances?” Chris smiles. “God, I was _heartbroken_ , I went home in absolute tears.”

If James shifts a bit here, then Chris doesn’t notice it. “You, uh, had a girlfriend?”

“Yeah. A fantastically Mormon girl. We were perfect for each other, until she wanted to have a go at breaking some of the rules, which I wasn’t, you know, super in to at the time.”

There’s a pause. “So, would you say you’re into breaking the rules now?” James speaks carefully, and there’s a strange note in James’ voice that makes Chris sit up slightly.

“Aren’t you?” 

James doesn’t answer that, instead all but throwing the tray with the cookies into the shelf in the oven below the cake before fleeing the room, muttering something about “I’ll be back in half an hour please please _please_ don’t let any of that burn”, and Chris is alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'awwww so James has a wee crush and is embarrassed, and Chris also totally has a crush but is an oblivious numpty :) :) :) 
> 
> On a side note I totally wanna write a wee one shot now about Arnold and Naba doing cute wee things for his bday i love them so much
> 
> The only reason for calling Church "James" now is there's only so many times I can type the word church or church's before it starts to sound weird in my head, and James is such a cute wee name anyway. not really a plot thing just a general makes-for-easier-reading i think? 
> 
> Ta for all the wee comments btw they totally gave me life, if you notice any typos then feel free to let me know cos i'm not good at editing :)


	3. Oh Connor, you've returned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is less of a chapter 3, more of a chapter 2 part 2. Like, this is just a direct continuation of what was going on earlier.

Six short months ago, Chris Thomas had had a totally different demeanour, almost completely unrecognisable to the boy who now actively engages in playful arguments, who stays up past 1am giggling with his roommate (and, by extension, Kevin Price), and who spends most of his time thinking up new curse words to throw at said roommate’s obnoxious boyfriend.

No, Chris had found it frighteningly difficult at first to _stop_ following the rules; far more difficult than Connor, or Davis, or Kevin and Arnold, any of them; even James. The whole being-kinda-excommunicated-thing had nearly sent him spiralling. Since the passing of his sister, being a part of the Church was really all he’d had. He and his parents and other siblings had grown gradually distant, to the point that if they hadn’t attended services together they would have ceased all communication a long time ago. For Chris, going on his mission was really the only thing he’d had going for him in life. None of his church or school friends or even girlfriend had been _real_ friends, and so being surrounded by eager, like-minded peers in a new country was a kind of escape.

Weirdly, it wasn’t until Connor’s introduction of the uniforms-no-longer-compulsory rule that he allowed himself to properly unwind. Uganda is hot, and so being able to wear shorts for the first time since… what felt like _ever_ , and not having to wear that _fucking underwear_ all the time, sparked a kind of spiritual awakening. Chris found himself, relaxing, tuning in to what Kevin and Arnold had been insisting on teaching to the local Ugandans, and realising, _hey, fuck it, I’m not in America anymore, and okay, maybe God’s real, maybe he’s not, but if even_ Kevin fucking Price _is loosening up then… Maybe I should try having a nice time for once._

It wasn’t easy at first, by any means, but soon enough Chris found himself engaging with real, non-sad, non-religious conversation his fellow Elders and the villagers that they were continuing to aid, finally becoming his own person. It was like being one of those “gap year” students — _I’ve been discovering myself or some bullshit_ — but he really _had_ become more comfortable in just being himself. Now, he almost couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually followed a rule without a hint of reluctance or _sorry Connor but I can’t be bothered right now._

And yet, today, Chris finds himself, worryingly, following another’s instruction. There’s no way he’s letting the wonderful baking of the one person here he is yet to be annoyed with get burned, _it's not that I’m interested in his happiness or anything, I just don’t want all this hard work to go to waste_ , and so he sits diligently in the kitchen for twenty minutes by himself, doodling on an old sudoku puzzle and checking the timer every other second, paranoid that he’s been sat for too long.

He needn’t have bothered. Chris feels a bit silly when said person comes speeding into the room shortly after 1, right as the timer lets out a horrendously high-pitched bleep, this time dressed in his white shirt and dark shorts. Chris doesn’t miss the twitch of James’ eyebrows in surprise that he is actually still sitting patiently at the table.

“I — uh, I didn’t think you’d be sticking around here much longer, you were… seemed kinda bored? with the baking,” he says breathlessly.

“ _James_ ,” Chris groans emphatically, throwing an arm over his face in mock horror. “Come on, I wasn’t bored — _uninterested_ , maybe — and I certainly wasn’t gonna let it _burn_.”

James, wisely ignoring Chris’ flare for the (slightly) dramatic, takes the tea towel from the sink from earlier _do we not even have an oven mitt?_ and opens the oven. He bends down to slide one tray out the oven, leaving the still-baking cake inside. Chris absolutely _does not notice_ the way his shorts stretch slightly around the backs of his thighs as he bends, _nope_. James puts another tray in, _wait, how many is he making?_ before carrying the first tray to the table and placing it neatly, looking just the tiniest bit proud of himself.

Chris moves to stand next to him. The scent of fresh baking mixes deliciously with the warm, musty air, making the back of Chris’ mouth water slightly. He watches him place each cookie methodically onto a cooling rack. 

“You’re pretty good at this, then,” Chris says stupidly, and winces slightly at himself.

“I mean, it’s pretty easy, you know, I could… I could always teach you sometime,” James shrugs off the lame compliment, but the way he’s _so obviously_ forcing back a smile reminds Chris of Kevin Price when he preens, _and that boy preens a lot_. Chris smiles to himself as he watched the other attentively moving cookies one at a time in comfortable silence, laying them out in a delicate formation.

James, unlike Chris, had not had any sort of obvious spiritual or personal awakening following their “excommunication”. Chris has heard Connor on more than one occasion dismiss it as him simply being a bit uptight, a super-Mormon to rival Kevin, but Chris had always had a thought in the back of his mind, even though he and James weren’t exactly friends, _though I think I want to be_ , that there was more to it than just being devout to the LDS.

“Hey, can I try one?” Chris doesn’t wait for an answer, just nabs the one James has in his hand, and, ignoring the rather affronted look cast his way, bites in to it. Holy shit. 

“Oh my _God_ , this is _amazing_! You should really do the cooking for us all more often, rather than leave us all at the mercy of Connor’s… well, whatever it is that Connor thinks is food,” he says, genuinely and in awe, and James’ now undisguised smile has the weirdest effect on Chris. The way his lips have turned up unravels something warm in Chris’ chest, and he feels his face mirror the expression. He decides, tactfully, not to mention that he hasn’t _actually_ had a decent cookie, _and certainly not a freshly baked cookie_ , since he was last in America, and so really, any cookie right now would probably taste brilliant.

“M-Maybe I will,” James says hesitantly, and Chris delights in the way his eyes have lit up ever so slightly.

“Here, you try the rest of it, _go on_ , you were _totally_ right earlier, these raisins are way better than choc chip,” Chris holds out the other half of the cookie expectantly. He takes a step closer so that he doesn’t have to unbend his elbow to wave it in front of James’ face, who looks sceptically from the cookie, to Chris’ eyes, back to the cookie, and then, hesitantly, leans forward to take a tiny bite.

James swallows softly, and Chris follows the movement of his throat with wide eyes. He can see a fleck of a crumb on James’ upper lip, and he wants nothing more than to wipe it away with his —  _with my what, oh my god I think I'm too close should I move backwards holy s h i t_

"Jesus, I hope Kev and I don't look like that when we share food," there's a dry voice from Chris' left, and he jerks backwards. For once, he's the flushed one, eyes down on the table and ignoring the "hey" of offence from Kevin and the "ha" from Davis, painfully aware of his companion out the corner of his eye, staring at him, and  _dammit, Con, why do you have to butt into everything_.

“When did you all come in?” Chris tried to sound relaxed, finding the cheap wood of the table very interesting all of a sudden, and praying that his face doesn’t look as suddenly flustered as he feels. 

“Um, right now? Davis came out to help us with our bags, which you would have noticed if you two weren’t _having a moment_ , dumbass” Connor says, mildly offended that he might not be the centre of Chris’ attention at that moment in time. Chris just gives him the finger, though if his face is even half as red as James’ is right now then his embarrassment is pretty evident. 

“Hey, this smells nice!” David unceremoniously dumps a bag onto the table, ignoring Kevin’s _tut_ and moves around, so that suddenly he’s between James and Chris, bending his head down to take in a deep sniff. “I didn’t know you baked, this is awesome!” 

Chris feels just the tiniest spark of …annoyance? towards Davis, because _I noticed first_ , and then just feels weird, because _so what anyway who cares it’s just James Church baking no biggie no biggie be cool_. He’s so caught between mentally berating himself and staring at James intensely as he continues to move the cooling cookies, laughing softly at something Davis has said, that when Connor punches him, _hard_ , in the arm, _Christ, Connor, Davis’ companion bakes nice things and all I get from you is abuse_ , he nearly falls over in shock. 

“If you’re done _baking_ , Chris,” _what is that look for anyway,_ “I think that Davis and the others could use an extra hand outside. I’m sure that Church will be fine without your help in here,” he says, busying himself with sorting out the groceries with Kevin. The quiet privacy of the morning is now completely gone, and Chris takes a second to mourn the loss of what had been a pretty great day

“Well, why don’t you and the Golden Boy over there help outside? Maybe I’m super busy in here?” he pouts.

“Because Kevin and I are gonna go make a card for Arnold, and you’re _never_ super busy, so just do as you’re told,” Connor unblinkingly rebuts.

And because Chris has never won in an argument against Connor, he resignedly goes to change into some actual clothes and go outside. _Prick._

———

Chris spends the next hour “working” outside, in the intense afternoon heat, whilst James stays inside to work and the other two do… well, whatever they’re doing, Chris is 100% certain that it is completely useless to the rest of them. Typical. For someone who made a surprisingly efficient District Leader, Connor is fantastically talented at ensuring he gets to spend As Much Time As Possible doing the most trivial tasks with Kevin. 

The work that Mafala, Davis and the others had done so far outside was surprisingly impressive. It’s amazing what a few fairy lights and colourful benches can do, Chris admits to himself, admiring the “back garden” of the hut as he lounges on the ground, upper half under a surprisingly cool patch of shade as he lets his bare legs soak up the sun.

It’s less of a garden and more a modestly-sized patch of empty, unfenced land about twenty feet from the mission hut, but there are a few leafy trees and some flowery bushes, and with a few lights wrapped around and thrown haphazardly across the plants, it could definitely pass for a kind of high-school-movie-sweet-16-backyard-party. _All we’re missing is a beer keg or something._

James joins them just as they’re doing the finishing touches. Mafala is standing on one of the benches, yelling what may be the most vague instructions Chris has ever heard in the direction of Michaels and Davis who are trying (and failing pathetically) to hang a “Happy Birthday” banner from between two of the trees. Davis is stood upon a chair, following Mafala’s example, whilst Michaels is sitting on the shoulders of Schrader, having just a moment previously claimed wildly that he’d be able to reach higher. Chris is about six feet away and can see regret in Schrader’s face that he’s been forced into this predicament by his own companion. _A true betrayal of friendship_.

“No no no no no, you, Elder, move yourself left, _left_ , so that Elder Michaels can—”

“This _is_ left,” Schrader says through gritted teeth. “Chris, could you maybe, I dunno, come and _help_?”

“Nah, I think you guys have got it,” Chris drawls, but his attention is now elsewhere, distracted by the boy placing himself primly next to him on the dirt.

“Hey, P… Chris,” James says, softly. “All the cookies are done, but I decided to let Eld— McKinley and Price decorate the cake,” he says, voice neutral, eyes betraying his confusion as he eyes Michaels and Schrader. 

“ _You_ decided?”

“Well, I mean, McKinley was adamant he and— and Price get to do it? But I’m cool with it,” James only seems a tad miffed as he mirrors Chris’ position, lying back on his arms, and turns his head slightly to look Chris in the eye. He’s a bit sweaty, and his pristine white shirt has finally, _finally_ , got some stains on it, but the sight makes Chris’ chest feel lighter somehow.

“Yeah, I guess they’re like that.” Chris plays with a stick idly between his fingers, drawing lines into the dirt, and James smiles, as if to say, _yeah, you think?_ There’s a pause as he thinks of something to say. “But, you know, I reckon they’re definitely more tolerable than they were before, now that they’re not “turning it off” or anything, don't you think?” 

He winces internally at that terrible attempt at bantering, but winks playfully at James, deciding that pretending to just be having a laugh was the way to go. The way James flushes in return is delightful, eyes darting nervously away.

Chris watches a single bead of sweat trickle down one side of his face, over the crease of his eye, and has to suppress the overwhelming urge to wipe it away with his own hand. Sensing that he’s still being stared at, James slowly looks up again, blinking nervously. The look on his face is completely unreadable, frowning slightly and biting his lip. Chris shifts, smile still plastered on but feeling it fading by the second, uncomfortably aware of how close they are, and how the back of his neck and arms suddenly feel prickly and sweaty, heart skipping erratically. He maintains eye contact in a useless attempt to appear more chilled out than he actually is. _What is wrong with me today?_

“For fuck’s— don’t just sit there, you stupid white boys, Nabalungi and the Prophet will be back in a couple of hours!” and suddenly Mafala is throwing a mug in their direction ( _where did he get a mug from was that always here_ ) so Chris can’t enjoy the moment anymore, and he drags himself up to go stand near Schrader and Michaels, who are very close to tearing each other’s throats out, and half assedly guide them in their as-yet fruitless attempts to tie the banner, _and it’s just a fucking banner why are they so useless_ , to the tree.

Chris allows himself to glance back at James just once, as he pauses to mop his brow, and gives him a cheery double thumbs up, which is not reciprocated; the other is completely lost in thought as he stares blankly at him. Chris turns back to the others, half-heartedly berating his fellow Elders for being idiots, but for once he’s not really into it, too busy concentrating on not allowing his mind to wander to places that are beginning to make him feel a bit lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray for midnight updates and ignoring my Real World assignments :O as always, feel free to point out any spelling/grammar mistakes :O people's comments give me life you're all so lovely 
> 
> Oh the dilemma of should I put them in their casual clothes or in their nice shirts and trousers :/ 
> 
> I just really like the idea that, after their mutual pining and what not, Connor and Kev are like this super annoying overly-PDA affectionate couple that get on Chris’ nerves all the time
> 
> In other news, I’ve been listening to bare: A Pop Opera, so now I have to work super hard to make this not angsty at all. That said, I would definitely recommend, some of the songs are gorgeous, i’ve been crying like all week smh


	4. Connor's boyfriend has impeccable music tastes

The surprise party is, without a doubt, a resounding success. Certainly, in terms of the word “surprise”; Arnold’s genuine shock that there was a _party_ of Ugandans and Americans waiting for him in the back yard was so pure, Chris almost feels a tear come to his eye in happiness. _I’m not actually tearing up, of course, because I’m a manly man, but out of all of us, Arnold deserves this the most_. 

Having successfully stolen a shirt of Connor’s that isn’t covered with sequins, Chris has spent most of the evening loitering by the food and drinks table, chatting with anyone in range. He’s keeping a safe distance from a small but deadly area of the yard where Arnold, Kevin, and Gotswana of all people were spinning people around in some sort of horrifying competition of strength and singing at impossibly loud volumes. _Ah, alcohol_. Kevin had plugged his own chipped iPod nano into a dusty looking speaker that he and Connor had purchased in Kampala, so that they are treated to a soundtrack ranging from such albums as _Disney Hits of the 2000s_ to _Disney Princess Hits_ (much to the (faux) surprise of everyone present). Yet, this totally unprecedented choice of music, together with tiny sparkly fairy lights and the sinking sun and cold beer and people laughing, makes for a surprisingly wild party. 

“At least Connor's taste in alcohol is more diverse than his boyfriend’s taste in music,” Chris jokes with Naba, who had eventually grown tired of her boyfriend’s weird alpha male competition and has joined Chris to nibble on food and cool herself with actual ice-cold alcohol. She lets out a single, tuneful peal of laughter.

“Yes, that is very true, Poptarts,” she says, biting down on a slice of cake. Her eyes widen appreciatively. “And this cake that you made with Elder Church is very delightful. I am surprised that you Americans can cook so well!”

“I can’t really take credit for that, it was all James,” Chris replies honestly, feeling just a note of pride that James is earning recognition. 

“”James”, huh?” Suddenly Connor is standing between the pair, nudging Chris with his elbow and winking seductively. _If my hands weren’t full with food and drink right now, I swear to god I would _deck you_ Connor McKinley_. “I didn’t know you and Church were on a first name basis, Chris, is this a recent development?”

Chris just rolls his eyes and pretends not to notice his companion hi-five Naba. “Shut up, Connor, don’t you have someone else you could be annoying right now?”

“Nope,” Connor pops the 'p', going to sip from his own cup of wine (wine that is _definitely_ not worth more than $5). “”You’re not denying it, I notice, _Chris_.”

“What is there to deny?! I called a friend by his first name and that was it!” When Chris gets worked up, his voice can leap up several octaves, and he has to work hard to keep his voice steady.

“What isn’t Poptarts denying?” Aaaaaand now Arnold is here, _he must have finally realised “Net Neutrality” wasn’t at his side for once_. It takes everything within Chris’ power not to throw his arms in the air and curse any deity that might be listening. 

“No one’s denying anything, Connor’s just being a bitch” Chris says stonily, causing Arnold to squawk out a shocked laugh at the word “bitch” and Connor to arch an eyebrow in question.

“You’re just proving my point, Chris,” Connor points out cheekily, and at that point Chris grabs a new bottle of beer and stalks away in anger. _Less anger, more embarrassment, but still. Hopefully this looks way cooler than it feels._

“What point?” he hears Arnold ask in naive curiosity, but Chris is already walking away and it would be kinda _lame_ if he were to turn back and continue niggling with his companion like a twelve year old.

After successfully dodging an attempt by Mafala to engage in conversation and a singing, _singing?!_ Michaels with a pretty girl on one arm, Chris eventually finds a bench tucked away under one of the trees that isn’t occupied by giggling girls and fawning Elders to sit on. Social events like these always cause Chris to crave a few minutes to just enjoy a drink by himself. He cracks open his fourth beer of the evening and leans back into the bench he’s sitting on, surveying the scene and allowing himself a moment to relax.

His mind is too preoccupied with _why do Connor’s jokes get to me, it’s not like they mean anything_ to register someone sitting down next to him, and so when a quiet voice asks him if he’s “having a nice time,” Chris nearly chokes to death on his drink in fright.

“Oh my — I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that,” James sounds horrified with himself, looking torn between running away and giving Chris a thump on the back to stop him sputtering. Chris shakes his head fervently, trying to swallow down his drink. 

“God, no, you’re fine James,” he eventually manages to cough out, shooting the other boy a smile that hopefully came across as more friendly than unsettled, and relaxes back onto the bench. “I just didn’t realise you were— how long have you been sitting here for?”

“I just sat down,” James says, smiling but ears red, eyes fixed on the party in front of them. “I was, you know, getting tired of… chit-chat, and stuff, and then I saw you here, and…” He gestures between them, trailing off. He shifts into a more comfortable position, mirroring how Chris is leaning against the back of the bench, albeit slightly more poised and elegant than Chris’ slouch.

Chris just nods, and for a moment they’re sat in comfortable silence. Well, as comfortable as one can feel when his pulse is thumping in the palms of his hands, and his mouth is a little dry, _but that’s probably because I just got a fright_. 

It’s nice, for a moment, watching the two very different groups of people mingling and laughing like old friends — _I guess by now, we are kind of all like old friends,_ — the darkening Ugandan sky making a lovely backdrop for colourful lights and carousing adults that have forgotten that they are, technically, adults. 

“So, you’re not drinking then?” Chris asks, looking over the boy sitting next to him, playing absently with the label on his bottle. 

James shakes his head, tapping his fingers on the side of his leg. He’s changed his clothes from earlier, wearing a dark polo shirt rather than his button down. Chris tries not to look at how the upper sleeves are stretched almost tightly over his surprisingly toned upper arms, a few inches above the prominent tan lines that all of them have earned in their time here. 

“Nah, drinking’s not really my thing,” he muses. Chris is conscious of pushing any personal boundaries, so he skirts around the topic casually. 

“Probably a good thing. I dunno if you’ve seen your mission companion lately, but…” Chris indicates with a nod to across the backyard, where Davis is shrieking in disgust from the other side of the party, sitting atop Gotswana’s shoulders and having just done a shot of what Chris knows for a fact is scarily underpriced “apple” flavoured vodka. _Good lord._

James snorts at that, the sound causing Chris’ mood to lift ever so slightly. He hesitates, then leans over an inch, and Chris looks at him curiously. 

“You know,” he says conspiratorially, “last time you all drank, during that movie night a couple of weeks ago? I had to put up with him singing High School Musical till 6am.” He shakes his head in mock sadness. “And he really can’t sing.”

Chris feels his mouth twitch at that, pleasantly surprised to hear James joking around for once, and leans in himself to whisper. 

“Connor has done the exact same thing _every night_ since we got here. And sometimes, he makes me sing the couple songs _with him_. And to make it worse, _he’s always Troy_ ,” he raises his eyebrows and pulls a face, which sets James off. _That_ little nugget of information has them openly sniggering like they are middle schoolers. Chris is delighted that James is becoming more comfortable in his company, and maybe it’s the drinks talking but he feels an overwhelming… _happiness_ , and is suddenly incredibly grateful to have a friend.

“So, does this remind you of your prom, then?” James asks, visibly more relaxed. Chris cocks his head questioningly. “Oh, this morning, you said something about your prom. In high school. I think.” 

Chris nods thoughtfully, the previous conversation coming back. “Yeah, no, this is _way_ more fun. For a start, all of these people are _hilariously_ drunk, plus they’re all actually my friends, you know,” he claps James’ shoulder in a bro way, “ _and_ , I’m not about to be dumped by some girl in the middle of my first ever slow dance.” 

James nods in understanding. Chris thinks he looks a little… wistful, perhaps

“Did you not have a prom in high school?”

James shrugs. “Nah, I didn’t go… My dad didn’t…” he trails off, and Chris can tell immediately that he’s closing off again. Chris curses his own short memory, _how could I forget what a dick his dad is?_

Making an impulse decision, _not that my impulses have ever done any good for me so far in life_ , Chris leaps up, placing his bottle on the ground and holding his hand out. “C’mon.”

James gives him a questioning look, but stands automatically, wiping his hands on his shirt nervously. “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t get a prom slow dance, c’mon, it’d be fun!”

“Oh, jeez, um, Chris, I’m not so sure—“ but Chris isn’t one to take no for an answer, instead grabbing one of his hands and pulling him gently but firmly a little closer to the rest of the party, close enough to hear the music ( _The Little Mermaid, perfect choice, Kevin_ ) but far enough away that they’re still separate. 

Chris turns them so they’re standing about a foot apart, facing each other. James stands stiffly, growing impossibly more uncomfortable when Chris places one over-confident hand on his waist and grips his hand tightly, crossing their thumbs over each other and pressing their palms together. There’s a definite inch or two of height difference between them that Chris hadn’t noticed before, _why am I always the short one?_ , but it feels, if anything natural. Even if James is looking… not super happy. _But aren’t I a delight?_

“James,” Chris says, in what he hopes is a soothing tone. “Listen, we’re not gonna look anymore stupid than Arnold and Naba over there,” he gestures with his head to where said couple are lying in a heap on the ground a few feet away, having just attempted (and epically failed) to do the lift from Dirty Dancing, “and we’re _definitely_ not gonna look as stupid as your mission companion does right now swinging round Kimbe.” _Cue scream from an overly-tipsy woman being flung around too hard by a boy that doesn’t really have any strength at all._

James giggles, finally, and relaxes, looping one arm loosely over Chris’ shoulder and grips his hand back, eyes a bit brighter, _not that I’m looking into his eyes or anything_.

Chris leads him round in deliberately stupid sway-y circles, and ok, _we definitely look like dumbass high schoolers right now_ , but it’s not nearly as awkward as high school prom had been, now that James is letting him lead and is laughing openly at Chris’ _very professional_ dancing skills. They’re stepping on each other’s feet a bit, and it’s weird being this close to someone in the first time since… a long time, but it’s surprisingly comfortable. 

“See, it’s fun, right?” Chris says happily, slowing them down so they can move without accidentally killing anyone. James’ head is bowed now, concentrating on not stepping on Chris’ feet, and so Chris allows his eyes to run over James’ dark hair, which is close enough he can almost feel it on his own face. “You’re a natural.”

James looks up at that, smiling shyly. Chris feels faintly proud of himself, as though this is another step in a Getting To Know James Church puzzle and he’s finally getting the hand of it. Upon realising how close they, the slightly taller boy goes beet red again, but this just endears him to Chris even more. 

“Thanks, Chris, this is… fun,” he says, quietly enough that if they hadn’t been standing so closely Chris wouldn’t have heard him. His heart melts. 

Blinking hard, hands suddenly sweaty, _maybe I shouldn’t have had that last drink_ , Chris tightens his grip on James’ waist, as if to reassure himself that he’s not suddenly died or something. 

_Not that this is a moment worth dying over. Wait, scratch that — not that this is a moment_.

“Well, _Elder Church_ , I’m glad you’re having fun. I, uh. I also had a nice time with you this morning.” He smiles in what he hopes is a suave manner, unsure why he’s so nervous all of a sudden. 

James entire face lights up at this, and fully relaxes his shoulders, which Chris hadn’t even noticed had been tensed. and _is this platonic, or am I…_

The music seems softer now, but that might just be Chris being too wrapped up in this moment — cos _yeah, okay this definitely feels like a moment, right?_ He smiles shakily, weirdly nervous all of a sudden, and finds himself unconsciously moving closer, in the midst of their colleagues and friends. He’s vaguely aware of Arnold and Naba dancing again in the corner of his eye, and he thinks he can hear someone — Kevin, probably — laughing at a joke, but all he can really register is the faint brush of James’ soft, dark hair on his forehead, and the way his eyes are filled with fairy lights. _That wasn’t a very bro-like thought, Chris, watch yourself._

The smile on James’ face drops. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it, looking conflicted. Chris sees his eyes drop noticeably to his lips, and back up again. _Oh my god. Is he going to kiss me?_

They’ve stopped moving entirely, and for a completely bizarre moment, Chris is so convinced that this boy is about to kiss him, he can’t move. _Why can’t I move, what’s going on, dammit Chris, pull yourself together_. 

They really are standing close now; Chris can feel James’ chest breathing in heavily, almost completely pressed against his own, and their noses are tantalisingly close. There’s a lump in his throat that wasn’t there a second ago, and his entire body feels tingly and warm and he can’t hear the music _at all_ now, just the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. James’ eyes are darting between Chris’ own, as if looking for something in his face. Chris is on the verge of having a mini heart attack right now, he doesn’t remember anything about this in his mission training, _what do I do what do I_

After what feels like an eternity of inner conflict, but can only be a matter of seconds, James eventually, disappointingly, breaks eye contact, looking away, an almost terrifyingly neutral expression on his face.

“You’ve been drinking, right?”

Chris’ brain goes blank. _What?_ “What?”

But James is stepping back again, shaking his head as if shaking away an embarrassing thought. 

“Sorry, I, um. It’s been a long day, I think I’m gonna go,” he says, eyes now fixed on a spot on Chris’ collar. He removes his arm from Chris’ shoulder, but continues to grip the hand that’s still tightly in his own. “But, this, this was. This was nice.” He’s smiling again, but it’s almost robotic now. Whatever that moment was, it’s definitely gone.

“Yeah, that’s cool, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Chris manages to make his voice work, squeezes his hand one last time and lets him go, mind completely frozen, because nothing had happened, but _it kinda feels as though something did just happen, and should I have said something there?_

But James is gone. Suddenly, Chris is alone at the edge of a party, suffering _major_ dejá vu, and feeling very confused. _Well,_ he thinks bitterly, _I guess I may as well drown myself in all this cheap alcohol._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my boys for being eejits!!! Comments and spelling/grammar corrections are life!! 
> 
> Yeah i know America has this whole being 21 thing for drinking alcohol, but I'm ignoring that bc it's a stupid law and does not exist where I'm from :O 
> 
> So fun news for me, I have five papers due over the next three weeks. What does this mean for this fic? Well, I'll either be a good student and work hard on these papers, and therefore might not update so regularly for a couple of weeks, oooor I'll put even more effort than normal into this fic and update it furiously. Either way just know I'll be dying :) :) :)


	5. Connor, that's... don't do that

As far as “gay awakenings” go, Chris reckons his must be on the more underwhelming end of the scale. 

He wakes not long after 9am on Sunday morning to a throbbing headache, an almost unbearable thirst, and a dull pain coursing through his body. _Why does my shoulder hurt?_ Squinting in the blindingly bright sunlight peeking in through a crack in the threadbare curtain, he shifts, kicking his covers off and throwing his arms over his head dramatically as the portion of the evening _prior_ to getting off-his-face drunk comes rushing back to him.

 _Did I try to kiss James Church?_ He sinks further into the mattress and groans despairingly, heart thumping miserably.

_…No, I don’t think that’s what happened. Did he try to kiss me? No, he can’t have. Right?_

__

_Oh my god._

__

__

__

_Do I like him? Like, like like his face, and… and his…_

__

__

_Why is this so difficult?_

__

Chris bemoans the fact that he’s an emotionally constipated, sexually frustrated young man, who may or may not have a tiny little crush on a boy in a country where having such thoughts is illegal. Romantically blind though he is, however, he can’t deny that, yeah, he’s possibly having some… _non-friend-like_ feelings right now. 

For a boy. 

James. 

__

James, _who I totally slow danced with last night, and has hair that looks like it’s really nice and soft, and has hands that I want on me_ anywhere _, and_ — Chris imagines what it would have been like if he’d actually kissed him last night — and _shit, I think I want this. Him. Oh god._

__

Although begrudgingly accepting this small change in his life, Chris doesn’t feel much more confident about himself, heart beating way faster than it normally does at this hour of the morning.

_Would he like me back? I’m not even sure if he’s in to guys. Wait, does this make me in to guys? Oh my god, what if he’s not? I can’t just, like, ask him that, right?_

__

Eventually, he comes to the conclusion that he needs to take his next steps, whatever they may be, slowly. Chris _can_ be a flirt when he wants to be, so a bit of mildly suggestive conversation might be a good place to start, although he’s still unsure and uneasy. It’s been so long since he’s had a crush on _anyone_ , and having a crush on a fellow Elder is a bit… weird. 

__

It takes another half hour for him to eventually drag himself out of bed, stomach alternating between growling angrily and turning in a way that makes Chris think he might need to go throw up. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, brain still foggy and legs shaking from the night before. He only barely registers the empty bed next to his own, taking a second to think, _Connor must’ve spent the night in Kevin’s room_ before slumping down the hallway, into the kitchen for a coffee and _please god_ some breakfast. 

__

Surprise surprise. James Church is sat at the table, fully dressed in shirt and shorts, playing idly with a cup of tea and staring into space. He tenses almost immediately when Chris comes in. Chris feels his stomach flip, and hopes that his own unruffled demeanour appears to be solely on the part of him being ever so slightly _very very_ hungover, and not on him crushing hard on the other boy.

__

Chris gives him a small nod in greeting and goes to boil the kettle. _Oh my god. My head. If I don’t drink something soon I literally might die._

__

“You, uh, okay there?” James asks, stiffly, eyes darting in his direction but not making direct eye contact. Chris' lack of inane chattering must be suspicious. _Dammit, pull yourself together, nothing’s changed between you. Play it cool_.

__

He turns and shrugs nonchalantly, despite knowing full well that his face is completely pale and his eyes are probably red, and he’s debating throwing up in the sink. The palms of his hands are a little clammy (although that’s probably got less to do with being hungover and more to do with the awkwardly shifting boy in front of him), and he wipes them on the sides of his trousers.

__

“A little bit, I guess. I didn’t get, like, super drunk or anything last night.” he says casually, voice a little scratchy, and he coughs to clear his throat. James raises an eyebrow in response, clearly disbelieving despite looking abashed, and Chris feels himself internally cringe. _What does he know that I don’t?_

__

“Really? I, um, well, Matthew told me you and Kevin Price screamed at each other about Mulan, or something like that, being better than Tangled for twenty minutes? And then you, uh, went to throw your drink in his face but it ended up all over Naba instead?” James says, obviously going for a casual, questioning tone, looking down at his own cup, but the corners of his mouth are tugging upwards. 

Chris isn’t even embarrassed. _Because I’m right and Kevin is wrong._

__

“Yeah, those were good times.” He sighs almost wistfully, and pours his coffee. He inhales deeply, the smell alone bringing him slightly out of his headache. He dumps in as much sugar and milk the cup will allow for, considering his next words carefully, before sitting opposite James. 

__

“Okay, so _maybe_ I got, ah, _ever so slightly_ out of order as the night went on, but... I wasn’t drunk before you went to bed.” He stops there, pointedly, and James finally, _finally_ meets his eyes.

__

James pauses, shifts, trying to hide his interest. “R-really?”

__

Chris smiles. “I’d only had a couple of drinks, they hadn’t really settled in yet.” He winks, trying to embrace his totally-casually-flirts-with-boys side. “You’re not a bad dance partner, you know. We should do that again sometime.”

__

“Uhm… oh, I. What? Um. Sure?” James wildly stuttering and going suddenly pink make Chris’ chest go warm in a way that makes him hopeful that maybe this could go somewhere. _Should I just say something now? No, this is way too quick, right? I’m still not sure—_

__

The two boys are put out of their misery with the entrance of a shattered looking Naba cutting through James stuttering and Chris internally flailing. She’s dressed in a pair of Arnold’s boxers and a t shirt with Chewbacca, and Chris can’t help but feel relief when he sees that she looks as bad as he feels, dark shadows under her face, her normally neat hair resembling a bird’s nest, and large patches of glitter ( _glitter?_ ) on one side of her face, as though she’d been sleeping in a pile of the stuff. 

__

“Elders,” she mumbles, dragging herself to the sink to get a beaker of water and downing it near enough in one gulp. Chris thinks about responding, but opts instead for resting his head on his hands and squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling heavily through his nose. _Maybe I should go back to bed for a bit, I still feel so tired_

__

“You find this funny, don’t you?” Naba grumbles, and Chris side-eyes her through his hands to see her glaring at James. James just smiles to himself, taking an innocent sip from his mug.

__

“Not at all, Nabalungi,” he says quietly. He looks up then, through his lashes, just as Chris goes to drink from his own mug, as if to convey some sort of silent joke, but there’s this weird, intense spark when their eyes meet that, for the second time in twelve hours, causes Chris to start choking on his drink. _He can’t be doing that deliberately, can he? Oh my god he’s so good looking how have I never realised this before..._

__

__

_I’m so screwed._

__

Naba ignores Chris choking to death, sighing resignedly to herself.

__

“I am going to help the “Prophet”,” she says, voice laced with begrudging fondness, “with his Holy Hangover.”

__

Chris finally stops choking, clearing his throat loudly. “Are Connor and the Boy Wonder in there as well?” 

__

Naba shrugs.

__

“No, I assumed they were in your room. I hope you have recovered from your fall out of the tree, Poptarts,” she says as she leaves. Chris’ head jerks in her direction at that, but she’s already gone. _That would explain the sore shoulder._

__

“You fell out of a tree?” James looks up properly, curious, and Chris recovers himself. 

__

“I think… I think your companion and I were racing to the top?” Chris pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to remember. _I may have gotten_ far _too drunk after James left._ “To be fair to me, I think it was _Davis_ that fell first, he just pulled me down with him.” James huffs out a laugh at that, and Chris puts on a fake pout (something he’s learned from Connor). 

__

“You _do_ find this funny, don’t you?”

__

“I find this hilarious.” James says, voice still quiet, but his smile now has so much quiet joy behind it that Chris can’t even be annoyed with him. He can’t help but smile in return, _dammit, it’s contagious_. 

__

“Oh, and I think I know where your mission companion and, uh, Price are,” James gives a pointed glance towards the living room. Chris cocks his head, and forces himself up from his chair to walk over to the back of the sofa and peer over. _Oh jeez._

__

Connor and Kevin are stretched out, completely wrapped up in each other on the sofa. To be fair, it’s not much narrower than their single beds, and they manage to squeeze into that every other night, _as I know all too well_. They’re fully dressed, Chris is almost relieved to see, until he takes in their completely dishevelled appearances; ripped open shirt buttons and _are their trousers undone oh my god_. He sighs, rubbing his eyes with his hands. _Do I seriously have to deal with this? I already have my own “boy problems” without these two._

__

Chris sends a sad glance back at James, who gives him a thumbs up. He sighs, and leans down to poke Connor, hard, in the side of the face. Connor opens one eye, looking confused. 

__

“Oh, hey, Chris, how are you?” he says, smiling tiredly. Chris just scoffs. _What a prick._

__

“Take a wild guess, Connor. I’m _very_ hungover. You guys comfy down there?”

__

“Quite.” Connor shuts his eye again and wraps his arms tighter around Kevin, looking very content with himself. _Well, that just won’t do._ Chris pokes him again.

__

“Connor,” he whispers harshly now, bending as close as he dares to his companion’s face and hoping that James can’t hear, “if you guys had sex on this sofa then I am going to murder you. You hear me?”

__

“Shut up, Chris,” Connor yawns, whispering as well but clearly not caring. “Do you even know what sex is?”

__

“So, you’re not denying it,” Chris bitterly parrots from the previous night, though he has a sneaking suspicion that his own ears are now as pink as James’ usually are.

__

“Shut _up_ , Christopher, I’m very hungover as well.”

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“Both of you shut up, I’m sleeping,” Kevin says suddenly, loudly, making Chris jolt upwards. He keeps his face buried in Connor’s shoulder, obviously unimpressed with the disturbance. “Poptarts, get over yourself.” 

__

Chris makes an offended noise, but realises that he can’t be bothered arguing. “Well, you’ll both be cleaning up in here. _Today_.” He goes to sit back at the table with James, now completely fed up with everything. James looks only _slightly_ scandalised. 

__

“Were… Did they…?” he gestures awkwardly. It’s not a great breakfast-time conversation topic, Chris thinks forlornly, and he’s not sure he wants to talk about his companion’s _endeavours_ with a boy he kinda maybe likes.

__

Chris just shakes his head. “Please don’t ask.”

__

———

__

The rest of Sunday is very much a non-day. James, Neeley and Zelder (the lesser hungover Elders) make a vague attempt to clear up some of the abandoned cups and fallen lights outside, and Chris stays in the kitchen for an hour watching Connor and Kevin spray the sofa with various fabric cleaners, complaining all the while. The rest of the Elders are wise enough to not ask. 

__

By the early evening, everyone has collectively gone into the living area to mope, post-party blues setting in. Connor and Kevin are sat on what Chris has now fondly named the Sex Sofa ( _“Chris, you can’t call it a sex sofa, that’s so inappropriate” “But it is a sex sofa_ now _, Con, thanks to you”_ ), alongside Arnold (who must be completely oblivious to the new name and the reason behind it); Naba has long since departed to spend the rest of the day with her father (and probably escape a mission hut full of stupid, hungover boys).

__

Chris is sat on the other sofa, leaning against the right arm; Davis is on the left side, with Michaels and James squeezed in between them. The complete lack of space between Chris and James has his hands twitching nervously. He hadn’t even consciously decided to sit with him; when he realised whose thigh it was that was pressed against his own, his heart just about stopped beating altogether.

_I kinda hoped accepting this crush would make it go away._

__

The rest of the group is splayed tiredly across the room, on the floor, settled in to watch a movie of the birthday boy’s choosing on the crackly, early 2000s television they have in the corner of the room. Chris is so wrapped up in his own thoughts and trying to stay awake that he’s not even 100% sure what it is, _I mean, it looks like it’s in space, so maybe this is a Star Wars?_

__

The weight of his hangover is long gone, but he still feels a little queasy, hangover replaced with the weight of this new crush that he’s not completely sure he understands. He’s spent the entire day torn between his desire to spend as much time as possible with the boy next to him, untangling what’s going on in his head, or doing what he’s naturally excellent at and ignore his feelings, _I wouldn't be turning them off, just not acknowledging; that’s different, isn't it?_

__

Chris allows his gaze to slide to the boy on his left, sneakily at first, not wanting to be caught openly staring. James’ eyes are completely glazed over, however, obviously not paying attention to the movie on the screen or anyone around him, so Chris wallows for a moment in gazing at the side of his face. He wonders what was going on in the other boy’s head, and if there was any chance that maybe he liked him too. _I mean, he does always seem nervous around me, right? But then, he kinda gets nervous around anyone._

__

He lets his eyes travel down the other boy's neck, _which is quite a nice neck, I suppose_ , down his arms and to his hands that are flexing slightly, resting atop his thighs. Chris inhales shakily. He wants nothing more than to take them in his own again and squeeze them, and whisper secrets like Arnold and Naba, and Kevin and Connor, always do.

__

Chris looks back up to his face again, and almost jumps when he meets two brown ( _but are they brown, or hazel?_ ) eyes, looking at him questioningly. Chris hadn't realised how close their faces would be, and feels his heart leap into his throat.

__

“You okay?” James asks, so quietly Chris almost can’t hear despite sitting so close. Chris just nods, mouth dry. James smiles almost reassuringly, like he knows that Chris is having a crisis, and turns his attention back to the screen again. 

__

The smile drops from Chris’ face almost immediately, replaced with creased eyebrows. _Oh my god, this is so tragic. I really do fancy him, don’t I._

__

He turns his head when he feels eyes on him, glancing up to see Connor giving him a _look_ , one eyebrow perfectly arched from where he sits with Kevin’s arm around him. Chris flushes, knowing that he'd been caught staring at James and flips him off as casually as he can. Connor just smirks at him and turns his attention away, settling against his boyfriend further. Chris scowls to himself, looking down at his own knees and trying to ignore the hollow pang of jealousy that hits him hard when he thinks about how close Connor and Kevin have gotten, and how he wishes he had that with the awkward boy sitting next to him. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are like oatmeal. They... sustain you (shout out to my main man)
> 
> Wow poor Chris, a hangover _and_ a romantic crisis? I'm so jealous. Poor wee lamb, such an eejit  <3 yes you're into this boy Chris, plz wise up
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys the thought of drunk Elders as much as I do, I feel like they think they are capable of drinking more than they actually can. 
> 
> "A Star Wars" Oh Chris 
> 
> Can a heart thump miserably? Is that a thing? 
> 
> If anyone's super into Elton John (as I am) then I would thoroughly recommend the musical Aida, i just discovered it this past week and it's got some banging tunes in there
> 
> For anyone invested in my academic life, I did one paper and have decided to wing the rest. stay in school kids and please check my spelling and grammar!


	6. Connor I know you're planning something (I just don't know what)

The best part of Ugandan Mondays, for Chris, has to be his weekly Monday Morning Sulk with Kevin. Chris has never loved Mondays, and he has certainly never been a fan of _Kevin Price_ , but he lives for this single activity that they willingly participate in together: when all the others are getting ready to start their week in whichever area of the village they’ve been assigned to, Chris and Kevin sit at the kitchen table with their coffees (and, in Chris’ case, poptarts) and go through a list of things that have bothered them the past few days. 

Occasionally, Arnold and Naba join in, because Naba is just as opinionated about everything, and Arnold hates to be left out of activities; but, for the most part, this is a safe space for Kevin and Chris to take a break from playfully arguing and insulting each other to instead wax poetic about their many sorrows. 

_In another life, we would both make an excellent pair of suburban grandmothers._

“And Neeley _definitely_ didn’t empty the bin last week, like _at all_ , how can he even live like that? Can you even believe how incompetent he is?” Kevin says, voice somehow simultaneously high-pitched and remaining monotone, perfectly conveying his deep hatred of Neeley’s complete dismissal of his assigned chores. Chris nods sympathetically.

“I can hear you, you know,” the person in question grumbles as he walks through the living area to leave the house.

“Then learn how to do your fucking _chores_ , man,” Kevin calls out after him as the door slams, not even bothering to turn his head in Neeley’s direction. 

Chris sniggers. _For all his faults, I do appreciate Kevin’s straightforwardness_. He wonders briefly if now would be a good time to bring up the James-shaped situation that had arisen for him over the course of the weekend — _I mean, out of everyone, Mr Golden Boy can probably relate the most to this, right?_

His head spins slightly at the mere thought of actually saying out loud what’s been burdening his mind, and he takes a sip from his drink. 

_No, I think I need some time. Kevin is such a damn gossip anyway... Yeah, keeping this… “crush” bottled up inside is obviously the healthiest option._

“You think _that’s_ annoying, wait till you hear what I saw Davis _not_ doing earlier—“ Chris begins, moving past his woeful inner dilemma, but is inevitably cut off. 

They always end up being cut short at some point; _“I don’t remember assigning either of you to the task of bitching” “Yes, but there’s so much wrong with this place, Con”_ is how it usually goes. Today, they’re interrupted mid-moan by the same old overly-chipper “District Leader” flicking Chris in the back of the head as he goes to boil the kettle.

“Chris, you’re gonna take some supplies to the school this morning. Then, you can stay there for a couple of hours, you know, help Davis and _Church_ out…” he drawls, giving his boyfriend a meaningful look that Chris can’t decipher (and chooses to ignore). He gapes. 

“I— wait. _What?!_ Con, I never help out at the school, I _can’t_ help out at the school, I’m too… what’s the word…” 

“Immature? Generally awful? Too much of an asshole?” Kevin suggests helpfully, flicking a stray poptarts crumb in his direction. 

Chris snaps his fingers at him in agreement, “to be a teacher.” 

“As we all know. Which is why I think you’ll learn something from shadowing _Church_ for a couple of hours and see how he interacts with the kids,” Connor says plainly.

Chris isn’t sure how he feels about how Connor keeps putting emphasis on James’ name, or the way he and Kevin shared a look just then, but he can't find it in himself to argue. _It’s like they know, or something. Not that it’s really, like. A big thing to know. Or anything. Not a big deal at all._

“Just for the morning, right?” he asks reluctantly.

His companion nods, pouring out his own decaf tea. “But don’t _flirt_ for too long, I want you back here around 1 to help me with some admin.”

Chris tries to sputter through his outrage ( _flirting, how dare he, who does he think I am_ ), but he doesn't protest any further, because, yeah, spending the morning with James and doing a bit of… friendly chit-chat might make this Monday a little less sucky. 

———

Around 10, Chris dawdles along to the school with a near overflowing tattered cardboard box full of jotters and pens — _Why did Con think I’d be able to manage this by myself, Jesus Christ, has he already forgotten my near-fatal injury from my very-much-sober not-my-fault fall from that tree_ — after spending far too long looking for his white shirt and a pair of smart-ish shorts. 

_I was never on time for school as a kid, and I’m not away to start. Cute boy or no._

He doesn’t tend to spend much of his time here, not being a natural teacher himself, but James and Davis are here every other morning to teach kids English. He can’t help but be a little bit curious to see how they’re getting on with the however-many boisterous young people. 

When he finally arrives at the school, he ends up haunting the doorway at the side of the main classroom. Being a small village, there are only two classes: one comprising of teens, and one of younger kids. Chris has always assumed it to be something of a danger-zone, what with all these kids crammed into two classrooms, and so is pleasantly surprised when he sees James Church chatting animatedly to a room of seemingly engaged thirty or so children. 

He hovers in the doorway for a few moments, watching his colleague explain to the mixed-age class the names of animals in English, drawing little cartoons of dogs and cats on the chalkboard and encouraging the kids to copy. Chris feels his mood begin to lift from where he leans against the doorframe, not paying attention to a single word that comes out of the boy’s mouth, instead just letting the general sound of his voice wash over him. _He just looks so comfortable up there, he’s not stuttering or anything. Will he ever be like that with me?_

And then he feels sad, stabbing pang in his chest, cos _how could such a nice-looking, wholesome guy even begin to like a "immature, awful asshole" like myself, anyway?_

Chris is broken out of his self-deprecating reverie when someone creeps up behind him and jabs him, hard in the side. He jumps about a foot in the air, letting out a very manly high pitched squeak, and spins, angrily.

“I hope you’re not stalking my companion, Poptarts,” Davis says, wry expression on his face. _Right, I forgot that he helped out here too. Dammit._

“I’m not _stalking_ anyone,” Chris says, haughtily, _though I have probably been standing here a while_. “Connor told me to bring you guys this stuff for the kids, and _he_ suggested I hang around for a bit and help you guys out, or whatever.” 

Davis leans his hip against the wall, amused, not really absorbing the part where he’d been sent by _Connor, the pillock_ at all.

“We don’t really need any help, Sisters Sylvia and Aamito work here already,” he says, seemingly disinterested in Chris’ excuses. “But seeing as you’re here…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead choosing to shove Chris unceremoniously into the classroom, very nearly causing him to drop his box of classroom goodies. James is no longer up at the front of the room, having since set the kids about completing a task. He looks up from where he’s now assisting a small girl, who can’t be over the age of six, with her drawing of a — _what is that? Goodness, she does_ not _have a future as an artist_.

“Oh, um, Eld— Pop— uh, Chris, what are you doing here?” he asks, looking perplexed. _Totally not adorable, just perplexed_.

Chris dumps the box unceremoniously on the wonky desk at the front of the room, and turns, scratching the back of his head, nervously, heart fluttering. _Play it cool, Chris, there are kids watching._ “Uh, Connor said you guys might need some of this stuff or something, so. Here I am.” He pauses, feeling awkward all of a sudden. _I’m never the awkward one, what the heck._ “So, seeing as I’m here, do you need a hand with anything?”

“Well, uh, the kids are just doing some drawing right now, but, um, if you want to stay… You could, uh, give them a hand if they’re struggling, I guess,” James says, looking a bit pink — _and is that from the heat, or is he blushing?_.

“Right.” Chris stands, slightly uneasy, for a moment, still staring, taking in the other boy. There’s a good couple of metres between them, but he is convinced that the James must be able to see the nervous beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. He finds himself unable to look away, forgetting where he is for a moment — but this unprecedented staring contest is broken when the young girl James had been helping pulls hard on his shirt, clearly annoyed that his attention is no longer on her, and the moment is broken.

After the awkward start, Chris starts to get into it. He is not an atrocious artist, and whilst he may not be great at teaching, it’s been a while since he’s interacted with kids. _I almost forgot how much fun this was._ At one point, he looks up and catches James looking at him, incomprehensible look on his face. His cheeks colour when he’s caught, but doesn’t look away until Chris sends a cocky grin and wink in his direction. _Caught in the act._

It's tiny episodes like this that really make Chris wonder what on earth James must think of him. _I must be pretty obvious, right? Surely there's only a finite number of times I can_ wink _at him before he realises I've crossed the line from Platonic Elder Friend to Totally-Fancies-Him Mess._

They don’t get a chance to talk properly until the lunch break, Chris spending much of the rest of the morning trying to figure out what might be going on in his friend's head whilst simultaneously trying to explain to one boy that he shouldn't be drawing chickens with four legs.

The pair choose a patch of dust in the shade to sit on, and James explains that normally he and Davis stay through lunch to play with some of the younger kids and tidy up their work from the morning before returning to the mission hut. A boy, who must think he’s smaller than he actually is, climbs on top of James like he’s a play apparatus, and one of his female classmates ( _does this one belong to Kimbe?_ ) sitting cross-legged between the two Elders. The presence of white boys in the village is (no doubt) still a novelty to some of the younger children. 

Chris is concentrating hard on pleating together strips of paper he’d torn from a book he may or may not have stolen from the box of shiny new materials, making a paper chain for the small girl on his right, who is completely mesmerised by the way he deftly puts them together. 

One of the Sisters who works in the school, _Sylvia, I think her name is?_ , a young woman not much older than themselves, joins them briefly, making polite conversation about the party at the weekend. At first Chris is annoyed to be disturbed, but realises quickly that she, like most of the villagers, is a very pleasant person with _a lot_ of gossip. She's just getting to a delicious-sounding episode involving Davis trying to (what sounds like) chat her up before she is forced to dash off to inspect the scuffed knee of an overly ambitious (and now crying) child. Chris turns to James, trying not to appear overly-keen to know more about what she had just been talking about.

“Sylvia is one of Naba’s friends. I think Davis might fancy her,” James explains as she hurries away, and Chris smirks. _Now I have some sweet, sweet gossip to use against him._

“And what about you, James? Any lady friends I should be hearing about?” he waggles his eyebrows, though the question makes him feel apprehensive, because _oh my god what do I do if he fancies someone?_

James just flushes, and speaks so softly that Chris almost misses him say, “No.” 

He feels his eyes twitch slightly, inexplicably relieved, and forces himself to maintain neutral expression as he looks back down to his wonky paper chain, unsure if this is information that could be beneficial to him or not. _I’ll just come back to that later._ Being completely straightforward and just telling someone that he maybe likes them just a little bit ( _a lot_ ) isn’t something that Chris is particularly well known for.

“I’ve finally found my calling in life,” he decides to change the subject, holding up his almost-finished chain. James just smiles, squinting slightly, looking almost... disappointed?, and looks away to observe the rest of the children playing in the sun. 

Chris doesn’t want to sit completely in silence, pathetically desperate to just hear the boy’s voice. He slows slightly, fingers a little shaky, fiddling with the edges of the paper strips, briefly forgetting that conversation is a two-way street. He has this insatiable desire to just discuss _everything_ that’s been weighing on him for the past couple of days with James; he’s never felt this before with anyone, ever.

“I used to make these with my sister, when she was in hospital,” he says in a conversational tone, not looking up. He's not sure why that's something he wants him to know, exactly; just that for as much as he wants to know more about James, he wants to tell James everything about him.

The child still sitting on James obviously doesn’t understand, pulling slightly on his hair to get his attention, but James remains silent for a moment, deliberating. 

“I'm... I’m sure she was lucky to have you as a brother,” he eventually says, meaningfully.

Chris feels himself preen slightly, in a Kevin-Price-like fashion, and then they share this _look_ that has Chris momentarily transported back to standing too close to be platonic, and gripping hands, and soft lighting, and—

The boy sitting on James’ shoulders decides then that all this ambiguous staring is boring, and pulls sharply on his hair, causing him to grimace painfully and bite his lip, no doubt holding back a stream of curse words.

“A talented baker, _and_ good with kids? James Church, you are a dream.” Chris says cheekily, though he's breathing a little heavier, finishing off the paper chain and placing it delicately around the girl’s neck. James, understandably, just scowls and removes the now cackling child from his person, sending him off to play with kids his own age.

The girl beams, brightly, before running off to join her friend. Chris feels a twinge in his chest; a different kind of pang from sensation he gets when James looks at him. She’s a good ten years younger than his sister had been when… but the expression on her face is uncanny. He can feel himself getting a bit choked up, and he sniffs hard. The sudden press of a hand against his elbow startles him, and he looks up to see James smiling at him softly, squeezing his arm comfortingly before dropping away. Chris’ insides melt.

_Yeah... I really am screwed._

He sets about making a new paper chain, concentrating slightly harder this time, determined to make it look neat. The air is still hot, but somehow Chris finds it easier to breathe, despite the mile-a-minute thoughts coursing through his mind and making his insides feel weird. James begins to chat away about the lesson plans he has prepared for the rest of the week, Chris half listening. It’s surreally comfortable.

When he finishes the chain, not wanting to cut James off, he places it gently around the other boy’s neck without interrupting his spiel. Despite his good intentions, of course, the movement cuts him off anyway. James freezes up. 

Chris swallows, and smiles weakly. “Perfect.” 

They share that same look again, that emotionally charged, borderline electric stare that has made Chris hope beyond all hope that there will, eventually, be something between them. For a second, there is silence between them, sounds of laughing children suddenly distant, before James stands sharply, startling him. 

“I have to tidy up the classroom before I come back to the hut, so,” he gestures clumsily, clenching and unclenching his fists, “I’ll see you later, Chris.”

Chris watches him go, chest feeling equal parts light and heavy. _Who knew boys could be so confusing?_

———

The rest of the afternoon passes very slowly for Chris, the befuddling blur of the morning replaced with the drabness of paperwork and Connor nattering away about books he enjoys and films he hates and _my wonderful wonderful boyfriend, let me tell you more about him_.

 _Sure, it's not like Kevin spends half the week in our bedroom anyway_ , Chris thinks resignedly to himself. He's so distracted by his own bitter thoughts that he almost misses this completely one-sided conversation take a turn into becoming an interrogation.

“Are you gonna do anything about it?”

“About what?” Chris blinks, initially genuinely confused. Connor stares at him sternly, and he realises. _Oh. God._

“You _know_ what.”

Chris is silent for a minute, but realises that there is probably no point denying anything. _No point confirming anything either, of course._

“I dunno, Con…” he stares intensely at the papers in his hand, trying to emit an unbothered vibe. He hears Connor sigh, and he bites his lip, feeling a little guilty that this is such a... difficult thing for him to talk about in the open, even with his closest friend.

“Chris, just know this. You really are a dumbass, and you should just _say something_.”

“Actually, I kinda think the whole not saying anything and pretending like... like _he_ doesn’t affect me is working out,” he counters, tone light. _How is he so perceptive? God damn you, Connor McKinley._

“Is it really?”

Chris gives him a dry look. “Obviously not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni is shit, and you gotta help me conquer it ;) 
> 
> Wow an upd8! You're welcome my amigos, your comments have sustained me and I continue to live and breathe 
> 
> This chapter took a little longer to work through bc i have so much Real World work to do too; trying to get these bois a nice balance of being confusion and then working through it without it bcoming to convoluted,,, RIP me and everyone involved
> 
> my poor child trying to act all fine and cool and chill. ;) Oh Chris. James is just shy so plz one of you wise up
> 
> Davis and Sylvia is like a side quest. I feel like (my) Davis is far more unashamed in his letting people know his feelings than Chris is, the eejit 
> 
> A prize for anyone who corrects my grammar! Side note, if anyone wants to re-read the entire fic with corrected spelling and grammar then feel free to do so cos whenever I'm bored I've been going through it and editing everything, one word at a time ;)


	7. Connor, perfect timing! No bf for once :)

For the rest of the week, Chris finds himself accidentally (on purpose) spending considerably more time with James than he has throughout his entire Mission so far. A walk to the village store here, washing the dishes together there, eating breakfast side by side before anyone else is up — neither of them commenting on the fact that Chris is notorious for enjoying a lie-in, and had often been the last to get out of bed even when officially on their Mission.

Chris has found himself becoming almost addicted to the sound of the other boy’s voice, and he, despite being usually unperceptive to anyone else’s thoughts and feelings, can tell that James is beginning to grow used to, _even hopefully enjoy_ , Chris’ flirty teasing. 

As with most things in his life, Chris justifies all of this to himself by blaming Connor: in this case, for spending longer amounts of time together with Kevin than normal (and they do already spend an unhealthy amount of time together anyway). Chris almost felt like Connor was _deliberately_ not spending time with him, if it weren’t for the near continuous blathering he’s still forced to endure during their shared working hours and in their room at night.

In true form to his character, of course, Chris funnily enough fails to address the fact that he could be spending time with some of his _other_ friends, if it weren’t for him developing this alarmingly huge crush in an alarmingly short amount of time. _Not a big deal, whatever._

It is difficult at times, of course. James will say something, or make a face, or nudge Chris with his elbow, and Chris will want to respond by wrapping his arms around the other boy and kissing him until they're both gasping for air. Sometimes, the urge is so strong he has to excuse himself to compose himself, take a few deep breathes, _although I reckon I'm getting better at covering this from Connor and the Glorious One_. 

Unfortunately, even with all the swooning over boys and lounging in the sun, he is still forced to face his responsibilities, and by Thursday evening Chris is knackered — not _quite_ fed up, because _I suppose I still love it here_ , but definitely more drained than usual. 

_It’s all these new feelings, they’re wearing me down._

New feelings, combined with four days straight of running around after Connor his District Leader duties and completing all the unseemly tasks by himself ( _”Why do I have to be the one to help clear out the chicken coops, Con, they’re literally full of shit” “Because I_ told you _to, Chris, now no more of this swearing, please and thank you”_ ) really has taken it out of him, and he can't wait for the weekend to roll around again. 

_It's only Thursday. Oh my god._

Chris can’t even bring himself to go take a shower, despite his clamminess after a day of work. At this present moment in time, he wants nothing more than to just lie down with a gentle beer and not think about anything for a while. He _does_ force himself to change out of his shirt and into something a bit cleaner, though, grabbing the first t-shirt he sees from his bedroom floor and flinging it on after dinner before returning to the kitchen.

_I can always just shower in the morning._

“I think I’m gonna go sit outside for a bit,” he muses aloud, to no one in particular, as a few of the other Elders mope around the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. 

“Don’t really care, pal,” Kevin says from where he is still sat at the kitchen table, checking his slightly-more-dishevelled-than-usual hair in the back of a spoon, and Chris scowls darkly. _Nobody even asked you, you absolute —_ Chris just shakes his head to himself, deeming the comment unworthy of his attention.

“You wanna join, Con?” he asks his companion, hopeful for a bit of company. _I’m a social creature, what can I say._

“I’ll maybe come join you in a bit, Chris, I just have to finish a bit of cleaning up,” Connor says, sounding infinitely more chipper than the rest of them ( _probably because he has me to do all his dirty work_ ). 

Chris doesn’t respond, just _hmms_ vaguely, and opens two leftover beers from Arnold’s party— _and that seems like a lifetime ago now_ — before continuing on his way out the door, ignoring an indignant Kevin's cry of, "Wait, are you wearing _my_ t shirt?" as he leaves.

 _If you love Mickey Mouse so much, Kev, you shouldn't leave your Mickey shirts in_ my _bedroom._

He strolls over to where the benches are still set up by the trees, revelling in the warm, though not humid, air on his bare arms and legs. The two leftover beer bottles that he’d grabbed swing loosely by his side

The fact that he’s not alone out there completely escapes him until — _oh shit did I just — I just stepped on an arm._

His natural reaction is to squeak out a, “Jesus _Christ_ ,” and step back, placing one hand over his now-hammering heart in one fluid movement, impressed at himself for not falling flat on his face. 

_What asshole is lying out here, basically a booby-trap for sweet naive people like me, who in the world…_

Of course it would be James.

James is lying in ( _the most convenient location, well done, boy_ ) pretty much the exact centre of the backyard, a few feet away from the benches and trees on a patch of soft-looking grass. His eyes are wide open, clearly as surprised as Chris with this recent turn of events, but overall he seems… oddly chilled out. His legs are crossed, one over the other, _and I’ve never seen him wear pink shorts before_ , arms folded behind his head, looking pleasantly relaxed for a change and (presumably) not caring about his usually pristine shirt getting dusty. His shoes have been kicked off — well, not so much _kicked_ as _placed neatly by his side_ , adding to the relaxed vibes the whole scene emits.

Chris doesn’t know whether to be thrilled, or… he doesn’t know what. _Still annoyed, I guess, I mean, why is he— who am I kidding, he is instantly forgiven._

“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly, because yet again he’s caught himself up in staring at him (albeit downwards for once, rather than upwards).

James, surprisingly, doesn’t react in a particularly strong way to having just been stepped on by a horrifically clumsy boy; he blinks, and raises his eyebrows. 

“Hey, Chris,” he replies, head slightly on its side so he can look at Chris properly (though upside down). 

James has allowed his hair to grow ever so slightly longer than the traditional Mormon parameters — much like all of them, so Chris shouldn’t be surprised, but he’d never really noticed until now. It has flopped ever so slightly when he turns his head so that the longest strands just brush the ground. Chris doesn’t always get the clearest view of his face, even with all the being-too-close to him that he’s recently engaged in, due to James naturally looking downwards all the time in that ( _cute_ ) reserved way of his.

Because of this, Chris is momentarily floored with what to say, and blinks, hard, feeling almost awkward just standing there, unsure of how to hold his arms, or which leg to rest on.

“What you up to out here? I thought you were still inside,” he eventually forces out. _You’re supposed to be the cool one, Chris._

James shrugs. “Just chilling, I guess… enjoying the v… um, fresh air.” He pauses, and closes his eyes. Despite his generally tired expression, he still manages to look calm, face painted golden by the soft light of the setting sun. “Um, do you wanna join?” 

Chris weighs the pros and cons of this. 

_On the one hand, I fancy the heck out of him, and on the other hand —_ as if he'd heard him internally debating with himself, the sound of Kevin singing _Tale As Old As Time_ come floating out the hut — _my only other option for conversation right now would be that._

Decision made, Chris flops onto the grass to the left of James, parallel with his waist, without a word, and lays back on his elbows comfortably, enjoying the sound of evening crickets and the distant chatter of villagers and Elders. He places the bottle intended for Connor to his left and holds his own in his right hand, fingers loosely round the neck.

He can think of no better way to spend the night than to sit sprawled on the grass behind the hut, body stretched out like a cat next to the very boy that _makes my heart kinda flutter_ , watching the stars begin to appear in the sky and whispering about things that don’t matter. 

He stays sitting, taking a sip from his bottle and breathes out contentedly through his nose, before turning his head to glance down at James coyly. 

“How are you doing, anyway?” he asks, feeling infinitely less awkward now that he’s joined James on the ground. 

“Same as I was doing when you asked me during dinner,” James replies simply, opening one eye, sounding _almost cheeky, James_ , and smiles.

Chris side-eyes him, and can tell he’s teasing. He rolls his eyes in faux annoyance ( _though really, I enjoy this side of him_ ), and moves his foot to knock gently on James’ lower leg.

“No, I… how are you doing… generally?” 

James bites his lip, thinking, both eyes now fixed on the sky above him.

Chris takes the opportunity to rake his eyes down the length of James’ body in the brief silence. Even in the dim evening light, he can make out a few fading bruises and scuffs on his knees and at the bottom of his thighs, _probably just from playing with kids_ , but Chris’ eyes are drawn to them. His fingers are itching to rub gently on the skin there, at the hem of his shorts — _no, stop thinking about that Chris, he’s gonna realise, oh god what if he—_

“I’m okay. Just… um. Just thinking about… stuff I have to do for the school,” James says, cutting through Chris’ internal monologue. 

Chris nods. “Do you need any more paper chains for the kids?” he asks conversationally, going to take a drink.

James huffs out a quiet laugh, although for a second Chris would think he looks almost sad. 

“I, um. You know, I don’t think that that’s on the curriculum, but, I, um. I would like it, if you. Came back, to help. Help me out,” James frowns to himself here, and starts fiddling with the hem of his shirt, nervously. _Why’s he always so nervous?_ “Help out at the school, I mean. Sometime.” 

Chris smiles. “Yeah, maybe _sometime_ I will.” 

There’s a lull in the conversation then, as James stares resolutely at the sky and Chris tries to find something to say.

“Pink shorts, very Kevin Price of you,” he ends up with, spoken brazenly, looking pointedly at said shorts with a wink. James goes bright red, shifting his legs so they’re no longer crossed and flexes his hands more agitatedly.

“Oh, I— they’re new, I-I mean, I got them at the market last month, and I’ve never worn them —“

Chris shuts up _whatever that was_ by lifting his free hand over himself to lay it over both of James’ fidgeting hands gently. 

“No, I just meant that… you look nice.” 

He keeps his hand there for a moment, because other than fleeting grazes, _and that one time dancing_ , he doesn’t really get the chance to touch the other boy. He’s briefly mesmerised by the sight of light contrast of their skin, Chris being ever-so-slightly more tanned than James.

James just stares at him. "I don't think you're really one to talk, Chris," he says softly, and for a second Chris' brain freezes, because _is he saying I look nice?_

But then, James looks deliberately down at the Mickey shirt Chris has forgotten he was wearing. _Ah. Touché, I guess._

Chris swallows, trying not to feel disappointed, though his shoulders do sag ever so slightly. He withdraws his hand quickly before he can do anything to make the situation weirder. _I feel like I always make it weird._

There's a pregnant pause, and James appears almost scarily expressionless. In a hilarious reversal of roles, Chris finds himself being the one to flush and look away nervously. He tries to ignore his heartbeat suddenly pulsing harder in his ears and his hands, praying that he doesn't look as unruffled as he feels. 

_When did it get so hot out here? God this is ridiculous, this is so pathetic, I really shouldn't—_

James sits up, sharply, scooting forwards a tad so they’re just about level. Chris' head snaps up, and he has to force himself not to jump back, thrown off guard at how close the other suddenly is. He grips his fingers tighter round his drink. 

“Hey, um, Chris… Can I ask you something?” Chris just nods. If his heart was beating quickly before, then it is pretty much at the speed of light now.

James pauses, bites his lips, thinking. His face changes expression several times in the brief pause, eyes darting nervously between in his own — Chris thinks that this might be the longest they’ve ever maintained eye contact. Chris’ breath hitches.

_Oh my god, is this… is he going to…?_

“Do… would you maybe…” he begins, slowly, leaning in tantalisingly, and Chris is already getting ready to say “yes” to whatever he wants because _whatever you want James I am there with you_. 

And then, _we were oh so close_ , his eyebrows crease in confusion, and he stops leaning forward.

“Why did you bring two drinks out here?”

Chris’ brain goes blank. “Excuse me?” And then he remembers, feels his eyes widen as it dawns on him, just as he hears—

“Hey, Chris — oh, and Church! _How delightful!_ Mind if we join you?” 

_Thanks, Con. You’re a real good friend._

Of _course_ Connor and — _and Arnold,_ and _Naba, how brilliant_ — have come outside, blissfully naive to the fact that Chris is bordering on the hot and bothered end of the scale. The magic of being unintentionally alone with this beautiful boy is gone. 

And so what Chris had, for a brief moment, hoped would be akin to a… _maybe a romantic moment_ is shattered, much to his chagrin, but for all he likes to talk back to his colleagues, he can’t find the words to defend himself. _Brilliant_. This is definitely the closest thing to _romantic_ they’ve come to since dancing at Arnold’s party.

Even with all the trying-to-avoid-showing-his-feelings, Chris can’t help but tip his head forward and indulges himself in leaning his forehead on James’ shoulder, they’re that close anyway. _Why is my life like this?_ He then reluctantly turns his head away, too scared to look at James’ face because really, Chris has no idea what he’d been about to ask, and he doesn’t want to disappoint himself thinking about the million and one more plausible, work-related things James had probably been about to ask him.

He faces his companion, Arnold, and Naba properly, who have now parked themselves next on Chris’ left, looking quite comfortable and pleased with themselves. 

“Hey, Arn, how’s it going? I’ve hardly seen you all week,” Chris says, trying to sound normal. Arnold shoots him a thumb up, and Naba smiles.

“We’ve been very busy, Poptarts, helping my father and Kevin with fixing up the village hall,” Naba says, and narrows her eyes as she takes Chris in from where she sits. “You’re looking very grimy, Elder, have you been working in the dirt recently? Or playing with some animals?” 

“ _Thank you_ , Nabalungi,” he says, trying to ignore the highly indelicate snort that comes Connor and the quiet huff of laughter from his right from James. Naba just smiles, brightly, obviously not caring about her bluntness, and turns her attention to her boyfriend instead. _Rude._

“And _how are you_ , Church?” Connor asks, smiling innocently. Chris hates him.

“Very well, thank you, Elder McKinley, and yourself?” James returns, politely, and Chris smiles inwardly at the use of Connor’s proper title, because James is nothing if not consistent in his formal chat with other Elders.

“Oh, much the same,” Connor says, winking and raising his eyebrows in what he probably thinks is a sexy way, but Chris thinks makes him look like he has an annoying twitch in his face. He inwardly cringes. _With friends like you, Con, it’s a wonder I haven’t jumped off a bridge in despair._

“Don’t you have a boyfriend to be terrorising the village with, Con?” Chris drawls, finally remembering to pass him his drink, which Connor happily accepts. 

“Kevin’s had a very long day, and has actually just gone to bed," he says, sounding for all the world like a proud mother hen. Chris is just opening his mouth to say something about — _I don’t know, something about Kevin being Sleeping Beauty or something?_ , when he’s interrupted by a pleased “ooh” from Arnold.

Arnold and Naba have lain backwards, faced up towards the sky. Chris can see their hands are tightly locked together, and feels a note of jealousy shooting through his chest. 

“Check out the sky, Nevermore, isn’t it _gorgeous_?” Arnold says, awed. 

Chris, Connor and James all simultaneously turn their heads upward, and Chris hears James let out a small “oh” of delight makes his heart soften. 

He hums in agreement. Ugandan sunsets are definitely up there in his Top 3 Favourite Things Of All Time (after poptarts, of course, and insulting Kevin Price). The three lie down as well, and Chris sighs to himself.

_This sooo could have been romantic if it weren’t for these guys._

Naba and Arnold busy themselves by amusing each other, pointing out patterns in the whispy clouds that could be taken as phallic ( _I’ve never seen a dick that shape but there we go_ ). The other three stay quiet for a while, occasionally giggling between themselves at the couple.

Chris and James’ arms are not quite touching, but Chris imagines that they are; imagines that they are locking their fingers together, resting his head on James' chest; _and then, I lean up, and kiss him; gently, at first, but then I run my other hand through his hair, and... and we..._

And Chris shakes his head to himself, because he's in a public setting, and this is... _God, maybe I'm not getting good at covering this at all._

It is a struggle, to keep his thoughts from... wandering, when he can just faintly feel the brush of James’ arm against the hairs on his own forearm when he shifts, tantalisingly close, sending shivers tingling through him despite the humid air. It's all still so... _new_ , for Chris, and there's the tiniest part of him, the almost-gone Mormon, that is shaking with guilt at the mere _idea_ of touching anyone else.

_Okay. Okay. I’m not a fifteen year old girl. Jeez._ Chris has _surely_ put up with enough of Connor hanging off his shoulders already that he should not be so affected by this. _You’d think I’d never touched another human being before._

He tries to block any non-PG thoughts, tries to ignore the underlying “is this one-sided, or does he like me, is this one-sided, or does he maybe possibly like me back” mantra that is beginning to start up at the back of his mind, but _x_ -many minutes of being this close to the other boy has almost got him panicking. _This is so not the time or the place to be developing these kinds of thoughts Chris come on come o n_

He’s blissfully interrupted by a familiar _snore_ , and he turns his head sharply to his left in alarm, inner-monologue grinding to a sharp halt. 

_He’s… yeah, Con’s fallen asleep. Bless him._

After sighing fondly to himself, _cos really, Con can be adorable when he’s not being a prick_ , Chris forces himself to sit up, stretching his arms out and popping his shoulders, his uncomfortable situation from just a second earlier already forgotten. 

Well. Almost forgotten.

The object of Chris' dilemma oddly sits up as well, looking almost alarmed.

“Are you leaving?” James asks, eyes wide. Chris tries not to concentrate on the hint of disappointment in his voice. _I’m just imagining it._

“I think this one was over-ambitious in thinking he could come outside. We’ve both had long days, I think we’re just gonna head to bed,” he explains, softly, cocking his head in Connor's direction. James nods, eyes flickering to Connor and back to Chris. 

Before James can say a reply, Chris forces himself to tear his eyes away and turn to his companion. He pokes him on the shoulder until he wakes up — gently at first, but then harder when he refuses to shift. Connor opens one eye, looking confused. 

“What? What’s going on?” 

“Bedtime for you, _Elder McKinley_ ,” Chris says, gently. It takes a bit more coaxing ( _almost violently arguing, actually_ ) before Connor eventually relents that, yes, it may only be early evening, but it _is_ probably bedtime. 

The two stand. Arnold and Naba barely notice, still giggling to themselves. _How do they always have so much energy?_ James has lain back down, but his eyes are still fixed on Chris. Chris isn’t sure that appearing upside down to the other boy is his best angle, but he can’t look away, allowing himself one last second of _enjoying the view_ before Connor tugs his arm impatiently.

“G’night, James,” he says, trying to sound cheerful. James gives him a small wave, and Chris has to bite his lip as he and Connor walk away, because, really, he cannot get over these small gestures that send little jolts of electricity through his spine.

_...Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful friends, I can only apologise for not updating this week! I had three papers due Wednesday and naturally the last thing I wanted to do when I finished was continue typing - however, these boys have been calling to me and so i have finally got round to it :O :O :O
> 
> Every chapter, i think to myself, poor Chris, and then the next chapter i continue in much the same way regardless. don't worry he'll get to grips with his feelings soon (probs)
> 
> Anyhoo i hope everyone is enjoying their April, unfortunately it is just that time of year for exams etc so for everyone in school/college/uni i wish you all the best - altho not luck bc I do need all the luck I can get ;) 
> 
> Also this fic is like defo over halfway done, I think there's only so many situations I can force these two into before eventually somebody (me, or Connor) snaps :D
> 
> As always if you spot any mistakes or anything doesn't make sense plz let me know asap i'll get editing right away
> 
> if anyone hasn't watched Queer Eye then I would thoroughly recommend for anyone w a wee bit of time on their hands, it's on netflix, only 8 eps; it's presented by these five gay men, they're all so wonderful, and it's essentially makeover/changing the lives of men but it is so funny and heartwarming, all about being body positive and accepting and confident in yourself and it is a very special show so it has my seal of approval


	8. Connor, you know what? You're a good friend

By the end of the weekend, Chris feels like he’s going to explode with all these less-than-straight feelings for his friend. It’s _so exciting_. He’s too scared to actually say anything about it out loud, other than the odd vague conversation with his companion, but he’s feeling a lot more comfortable with himself since this whole "awakening" debacle. 

He’s walking back to the hut from the village store (this weekend had seen the first shipment to the village _ever_ of poptarts from Kampala, after much pestering from Chris, and he’d never been so happy in all his life) when he comes across James. _Beautiful, wholesome James._

James is sat on the fence on the side of the track that leads up to the hut, staring down at his shorts and picking at a thread. He definitely seems lost in thought, chewing his lip, one of his legs dangling down. Chris smiles to himself inadvertently, and feels his heart skip, _because apparently that's what I do now whenever I see this boy_. 

Chris swings the bag of poptarts idly by his side as he debates what to do. Eventually, he decides that this is _probably_ bordering on stalker-like behaviour, watching him from afar, and he cheerily approaches. 

“Hey, James!” he exclaims, warmly. James looks up.

“Oh, um. Hey, Chris,” he replies. He looks a bit vacant, not really paying attention. Chris feels his face twitch slightly in confusion, but he keeps his smile on his face.

Dropping the bag of poptarts to the ground, Chris hops up onto the fence beside him and nudges him with his elbow. 

“You okay? You’re gonna put a whole in your shorts if you keep pulling on that thread,” he says amicably.

James shakes his head, but stops picking at the fabric and opts for leaning forward onto his legs instead. “No, no, I, um. It’s nothing.”

 _It can’t be nothing._ He looks distressed. Chris goes to give a comforting pat with his free hand, but James doesn’t react. Chris lets his hand fall to his lap. 

James takes a breath. 

“Matthew asked Sylvia out, a-and she said yes, so now they’re out on a date, and I’m just. I’m just sitting here, I guess,” he says. _What?_

Chris may have caught the bitterness in his voice if he hadn’t been so busy trying to hide the rush of… _envy?_ that came over him. He can’t deny that he’s a _little_ surprised that lovely, sensible Sylvia said yes to going out with the every so slightly hyperactive Davis.

_I wish I had the balls to do that._

Chris shakes himself out of these thoughts, and squints his eyes as he takes in James fully. 

“Does… that bother you?”

“I, uh, I don’t really wanna talk about it, Chris,” James says, rushing his words, looking at the ground. Chris feels his heart sink a little as he lets his thoughts run away from him.

 _Is he jealous of Davis? Does he fancy Sylvia?_

_Oh god, what if he fancies Davis?!_ Chris tries to stop those thoughts right there, because he knows how talented he is at making things up in his head that _aren’t true_.

 _That anyone would fancy Davis is totally unbelievable anyway, the guy’s unbearable._

“You can always talk to me about whatever it is,” he tries again, and James shakes his head.

“Maybe you’re not the kind of person I want to talk to right now, Chris,” he says, absently.

_Ouch._ It’s not often that Chris gets to enjoy James not stuttering, but this lack of hesitation makes it hit home. Chris’ face transforms in a split second, from worried, to devastated, to carefully neutral. 

_It doesn’t even look like he knows what he said._

He’s not gonna lie — it stung. _A lot_. He’s looking at the ground, _can’t look him in the face_ , trying to appear like that comment didn’t bother him. It’s difficult, though, because he thinks he knows exactly what James means. He’d had enough of this from kids at school pretending to be his friend, because they felt _sorry_ for him, to understand what meant.

“Look, James, maybe you should come back to the hut,” he tries, deflated. “It’s nearly time for dinner.” James makes a vague noise in response.

 _I’m not the kind of person you want to be hanging with, that’s cool, I get it._

Chris jumps down and grabs his bag, feeling infinitely less cheerful than he’d felt earlier. “I’ll, um. I’ll see you later then, I guess.” 

James nods idly. “Bye, Chris.” 

———

The rest of the week is tough to get through for Chris. He naturally spends too much of his time _over-analysing_ the situation, and not talking to anyone. 

_Maybe you’re not the kind of person I want to talk to._ He can’t really take that as meaning anything positive, right? 

The more Chris watches James, though, _and not in a stalker way, I’m not a stalker… I don’t think I’m a stalker, anyway_ , the more he gets to know what kind of a person he is. The more he gets to know, the more he falls just a tiny bit more for him, which _totally sucks_. 

James Church works like clockwork in some areas — always up before 7, even on the weekend; always wears a white shirt and presents himself smartly; always refers to Connor as “Elder McKinley”; reads a book before going to bed. The kind of person who waits until everyone else has showered before he does, and quietly stays in his lane and does his assigned tasks without complaint (unlike Chris). A person of habit, who sticks to the rules, and never had any interests outside of preparing for his mission; a straight-laced, polite Mormon boy. 

But then, sometimes he’s not so straightforward.

Sometimes, Chris will walk in for dinner and James will already have his pyjamas on, swearing that it is because his regular clothes are grubby from a day of work (Chris wishes he would always dress like this, in slightly-too-short shorts and baggy tees). Some days he’ll drink coffee stronger than Kevin’s, and others he’ll have the weakest, milkiest, pissiest looking cups of tea that put Connor to shame. For all the reading that he does, Chris couldn’t say what his favourite book is, or what is on his mind when Chris finds him sniggering to himself when he thinks no one is paying attention. He’ll whisper jokes to Davis during mealtimes that render the pair crying with laughter, and it makes Chris more jealous than anything. 

Chris tries not to think about _how much_ he thinks about these little things, because it’s a little bit terrifying, and awfully disconcerting, and _not worth it_.

Making it through the entire week without having a public meltdown is impressive. By late Friday night, he’s hardly spoken to anyone else, confining himself to self-pitying and sulking. Other boys his age are out drinking, or hanging out with their buddies, or watching movies, or _something_ , and Chris is sat by himself in a living room in Uganda. 

_My social life certainly leaves a lot to be desired._

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't upset that James hadn't made much of an effort to talk to him throughout the week, either. Every time they made eye contact, James would flush violently and look for any excuse to leave the room. A week ago, this would have thrilled Chris, but now he's just sad. _He really doesn't want to talk to me._

This circles around his head for hours, and he probably would have sat there through the entire night till morning, if not for Connor. Around 2am, Connor meanders blearily into the room. Chris doesn’t even notice until he’s perched beside him on the sofa. 

“Are you okay, Chris? You’ve seemed really miserable this week,” Connor says through a yawn, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. 

Chris stays silent, and the only sound that fills the room for a full minute is the gentle buzzing of the overhead light. Chris tries to focus on his own breathing, but it is all of a sudden difficult, _how do I breathe, oh my god why am I freaking out come on Chris wise up_

“Hey, Chris… Look here, come on. What’s up with you?” Connor cuts across his spiralling internal monologue, and his voice is so gentle that Chris _has_ to look up. The look of genuine, open sympathy on his face makes Chris glance away, conscious that he is on the brink of welling up. 

Connor shifts so he’s sitting closer to him, and puts one of his arms around Chris’ shoulder, gently.

“I’m not letting you get away with this one. There’s been something up with you for a few days now, _don’t think I haven’t noticed._ You can talk to me about it, you know.” 

Chris swallows hard.

“I don’t… I _don’t know_ , Connor. Really, just… I thought…” Chris finally forces out, and he still can’t look at him but he’s at least _trying_ to be truthful. Semi-truthful. “He said he doesn’t want to talk to me, and I’m… just a bit distracted, that’s all.”

Connor doesn’t even need to ask who he’s talking about, and for once, he doesn’t laugh at him for having _feelings_ , because secretly, Connor is a good Leader, and a good friend. 

_I don’t deserve a friend like him_ , Chris thinks, and then suddenly he’s aware that a couple of the tears that had started to form have started to roll down his face. He sniffs hard, feeling pathetic and disappointed 

“Oh, hey, come on now,” and Connor is suddenly hugging him tightly round the shoulders, hand rubbing between his shoulder blades soothingly. Chris doesn’t move his body, just tilts his head to the side so it’s resting on Connor’s shoulder, and tries to focus on breathing, shakily, wet eyes completely soaking Connor’s t-shirt. He hasn’t cried in a long time, and _I’m not crying now, I’m not crying cos this probably isn’t a big deal—_

“I’m just _confused_ , Con,” he says, bordering on high pitched and embarrassed and wavery, and Connor doesn’t respond to that verbally, but Chris knows that he knows _exactly_ what he means, from the way he squeezes him tighter. 

They stay like that for a short while. The moment is inevitably broken after the long silence, _of course_ , when Kevin fucking Price comes ambling casually into the room. 

“ _There_ you are, Con, I woke up and you weren’t in bed,” Kevin pouts, leaning onto the back of the other sofa ( _the Sex Sofa_ ) and folding his arms. _Always about you, Kev._

“Well, _I_ woke up, and _Chris_ wasn’t in _his_ bed, so I came looking for him,” Connor replies haughtily. Kevin looks between the two, eyes narrowed, and then stands up properly to join them on the (non-sex) sofa. 

To their surprise, Kevin squeezes himself next to the other side of Chris, between him and the armrest, rather than beside his boyfriend. He draws his knees to his chest, and doesn’t put his arm around Chris like Connor has, _don’t get cosy, Kev_ , but it does lift Chris’ spirits a little, with this proof that Kevin does have a heart after all.

“What are we crying about, then?” he asks, sounding indifferent. Chris smiles wetly. 

“Same old, I guess. I’m having a bit of a, uh. _Gay panic,_ as the kids say” he says, trying to sound like it’s not a big deal ( _it really isn’t a big deal_ ), which is easier said than done when he's all sniffly and has a tear clinging to his eyelashes.

“ _You_ can’t have a gay panic, Chris, we already had to put up with Kevin for that,” Connor jokes gently. Kevin is appalled, and leans forward over Chris, forgetting yet again that it’s not all about him. 

“How _dare_ you, Con, _you_ were the one with a— a _musical number_ about being gay, don’t drag _me_ into… _whatever this is_ ,” Kevin sputters, offended that he should be the one labelled a panic. 

“Shut up, Kevin,” Chris and Connor say, simultaneously and not looking at him. Kevin scowls, but in all his _complete lack of wisdom_ he recognises this is not a conversation to ruin by arguing, and goes back to sitting pressed against Chris, albeit begrudgingly. 

“Well, fantastic though it is to hear you’re not a robot and do actually have feelings, we’re gonna need a little more info,” Kevin says, moodily. 

“He just… he said he doesn’t want to talk to me,” Chris echoes himself. “He basically said he doesn’t _like_ talking with me.” 

There’s a pause. 

“We’re talking about James _Church_ , just to be clear?” Kevin says. Chris rolls his eyes. _Obviously._ “Look, Poptarts, I wouldn’t take it personally, the guy doesn’t really talk to anyone anyway.” 

“Yeah, b-but I thought that maybe he _like_ -liked me, and now I don’t think he likes me in any way at all, he probably just felt _bad for me_ or something and has been putting up with me when he doesn't really care,” Chris feels himself getting worked up, and takes a deep breath. 

“I think you’re just taking it out of context, Chris,” says Connor lightly. “You do that all the time anyway. You always think that Kev and I are _doing stuff_ when Kev sleeps over in our room.” 

“That’s cos one time, Con, _you were_ ,” Chris snaps, morose thoughts briefly forgotten. “It was _gross_ , you guys are _completely deranged_ , and—“ 

“Oh, it was _one time_ , we mostly only have sex when you're not in the room.” Connor brushes him off and ignores Chris' eyes widening in horror — _"mostly" is not what I want to hear, Con_ , and continues. “ _Anyway_ , I’m pretty sure that in this case, you _are_ taking it out of context. That boy looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars, it’s sickening.” 

Chris shifts. “Really?” he asks, quietly. 

Kevin nods. “Yeah, it’s really sickening.” Connor removes his arm briefly from Chris’ shoulders to clip him round the back of the head. “ _And_ , yeah, he’s, like. Always staring at you, or whatever, when you’re not looking, so there’s that. I actually think he tried to wink at you yesterday at dinner.”

“That was a _wink_?!” Connor gapes. “God, I thought that was just a weird _blink_ , I thought there was something in his eye.” 

“Yeah, me too…” Chris trails off, and falls quiet, trying not to get his hopes up. _They’re just saying that to be nice, right?_

“If Naba were here, she’d talk some sense into you,” Kevin declares in the ensuing silence, and Connor hums in agreement, before standing and stretching his arms above his head. 

“Look, this has been delightful, gents, but I’m afraid that’s enough soul-searching for one night. Chris, I really think you should get some rest, and consider not freaking out about such a little thing,” he says. Chris relents, and he and Kevin stand as well. 

_Sleeping on this is probably good for me._

"If you do need any help with this, Chris, I am here for you, 'kay?" Connor continues, softly. Chris smiles, because _yeah, maybe I do have good friends after all._

"Yeah, I'm not," Kevin says, unnecessarily, wrapping one arm around Connor's waist tiredly and giving Chris a thumbs up. _Fair enough._

It doesn't really feel as though anything was solved, but when they get to their room and Chris curls up in bed, he does sleep a little easier than previous nights that week. 

_Con's right, I'm definitely just winding myself up over nothing._

The last thought that enters his head before he drifts off is that he is still not any closer to knowing what to do next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't @ me, i'm pretty sure it's like a rule of the universe that things gotta get a wee bit sad before they get good again right? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ And anyway, as we've all established, Chris is a wee bit of a fanny and is defo reading into things (but also James is an oblivious eejit so what can you do) 
> 
> Hurray for wholesome, supportive friendships between soft bois <3 
> 
> (and also hurray for inconsistent passages of time, you're all very welcome :) ) 
> 
> ALso, Chris defo has to put up with these other two humans sharing his room every now and then and I imagine that that's super annoying so let's all just take a moment to feel sorry for him 
> 
> Sadly, I think this fic only has 2 chapters left in it (altho maybe 3, I kinda have to work on these chapters and may decide to extend them a wee bit), but fortunately this means happier things to come 
> 
> Shoutout to this new show I started watching on netflix called Please Like Me, it's Aussie and it's so heart-warming and funny and i have absolutely fallen in love (although I will put a wee trigger warning on it; despite being heart-warming and funny there _are_ a lot of wee storylines involving characters with anxiety, who self harm, relationship and family issues, suicide etc)
> 
> As always i love a wee comment so ;) ;) ;) first person to correct any spelling or grammar wins a prize


	9. Connor's boyfriend is just as good as Connor at interrupting shit

Just as Connor had done in the first stages of his relationship with Kevin (and has continued with to this day), Matthew Davis has elected to spend more time with his new girlfriend than with his companion, and so after a spell of not hanging out together at all, Chris finds James seeking out his company even more actively than he had before.

Not that this is something that Chris _dislikes_ , exactly — _it’s always nice to feel needed_ — but despite his chat with Connor the other day, he can’t help but feel James is only hanging out with him because he has no one else to hang out with. 

And so, Chris finds himself coming up with more excuses than can seem normal to avoid any awkward conversations or encounters. He can’t really trust himself to not just kiss the life out of the other boy, and maintaining distance seems like the _safest_ option. 

For the most part, when they _do_ hang out the conversation flows relatively easily, and Chris forgets every now and then about all the problems he has brought upon himself. But then, sometimes, James will glaze over, and turn shifty and get obviously uncomfortable if Chris sits too close or flirts a little _too_ blatantly (which he can’t really help). 

Things that, for Chris, highlight the fact that he is right and Connor is wrong.

It’s a Wednesday, and it is the first day in a long time that Chris doesn’t force himself out of bed at an unhumanly early time to eat breakfast with James. 

He stills _wakes up_ at 6.30, because he’s gotten into the rhythm of getting up earlier now. However, rather than sprint to the kitchen to see James’ totally-not-sexy bedhead, he stays motionless; staring at the ceiling, and trying to crush all the seeds of hope that the One True Couple had planted in his head. Staying in bed and moping by himself seems, today, to be far more appealing than giving the boy of his dreams puppy-eyes and no doubt looking like he has lost his mind.

Getting up after everyone else has gotten up is a novelty, and he is relieved that no one comments on it. However, to his surprise, James approaches him to ask about it, almost as soon as he is up and about. 

Well, less _approaches_ , more _literally crashes into him_ when Chris is on his way to the bathroom, as though he’d been hunting desperately for him. 

Having a face full of _cute boy_ is definitely enough to kill Chris, and it takes everything in his power to not scream and flee the hut forever.

_Not even 9am, and he’s already given me the fright of my life._

Chris is away to ask him why exactly he isn’t at the school yet, _he’s normally so early, like any polite Mormon should be_ , but it is James who starts talking immediately, face flushed and sounding almost distressed. 

“I, um. You didn’t come a-and have breakfast with me today, I-I just wanted to check you were okay,” he pants, and _wow he's really out of breath, huh._

_Oh. Wait._

_Really?_

“No, I, um. I was just,” Chris tries to come up with something that isn’t _I’ve decided to avoid you like the plague cos I sort of fancy the heck out of you and being around you is kinda difficult cos you don’t seem to feel the same and_

“I slept in! I slept in,” he all but shouts, relieved to have come up with something. _And in such an obviously calm and collected manner without sounding weird or anything, right?_

“It’s fine, I’m being silly, aren’t I,” James huffs out a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes, seemingly unaware of the moment of panic that had struck Chris there. “I thought… I thought maybe you’ve been avoiding me, o-or something, I haven’t really… I haven’t really seen much of you recently.”

_Well now I just feel bad._

Chris thinks about just saying what he’s feeling. _It could be so easy._ But Chris is never one for doing things the easy way, and with his heart in his throat and feeling as though he’s going to be sick, he just shakes his head, partly at James’ naivety and partly because he’s denying… _whatever it is, I’m denying it._

But then Chris looks at James properly, at the eyes that he’s come to dream about, and he thinks about all the stuff that Connor and Kevin had relayed to him, and about how _turning it off_ is never the healthiest option, and that it’s definitely not fair to James if he keeps it in all the time. And he considers.

“I, well. The thing is.”

 _Careful now, Chris._

“I kinda thought you were jealous of Davis or something, or maybe even _Sylvia_ , so I, uh, thought I’d give you some space or something,” Chris finally says, slowly, in the awkward pause. 

It’s definitely _not_ what James was expecting as a response, if the look of _ummmmm what the fuck_ on his face is anything to go by, but it is as close as Chris is going to get to admitting what has been up with him. 

_It’s not exactly the whole truth, but it’s getting there._

James stares, for a full one, two, three seconds, before he claps a hand to his mouth and makes a weird, muffled sound. 

“Are you _laughing_ at me?” Chris asks, momentarily outraged. 

“No, it’s, I, um,” James removes his hand to reveal a wide smile, and bites his lip. Chris feels his face prickle a bit, embarrassed that he’d evidently caught the wrong end of the stick.

(And also embarrassed that he’s going to have to tell Connor _and the Chosen One_ that they were right about him being wrong, but that’ll be something to worry about another time. _Ah shit._ ) 

“I’ll tell you later, it’s… _complicated_ ,” James eventually decides. “ _And no_ , of course I don’t— I don’t fancy _Matthew_ , are you insane? Like, I love him, but, I mean, he’s…” James gestures, and Chris nods, relieved.

_Thank Heavenly Father for that, then._

“That’s… that’s not just it, though, is it?” James ventures. “I-I mean, you seem kinda sad, or something. Or… o-or you really are just avoiding _me_. I dunno.”

Chris pales, and his face must look pretty tragic because James’ eyes widen.

“N-no, I mean, I didn’t to be—“ his shoulders slump, briefly, and he’s _still chewing on his lip_. Chris’ eyes are drawn to it, and he clenches one of his fists on his t shirt, trying to calm himself.

“No, I’ll talk to you later. Yes. Okay. I have to go now.” 

And then James just _leaves_ , as though nothing weird had just happened.

Chris is kind of in shock, because essentially what has just happened, as far as he can tell, is James has had some sort of internal crisis of his own, _so at least I’m not the only one_ , and Chris has no idea what just happened. He can’t help but feel a slight sense of foreboding at the prospect of James wanting to tell him something _later_ , though.

_It must be important or serious or something if he can’t just say it now, right?_

He has this awful weight on his shoulders, like James is going to tell him that he’s leaving, or that he’s engaged to marry a girl back home, or that he _secretly hates poptarts_ , or something equally horrifying. 

_Complicated._

_You’re not wrong, James._

———

James does manage to corner him. Eventually. 

Like any mature adult would, Chris has been continuing to hide from his problems by moping outside, wrapped in a thin blanket and huddled in on himself on a wooden pallet behind the hut. The incessant buzzing of the crickets keeps his mind oddly, blissfully, blank, and he stretches his legs out languidly, back against the wall of the hut. He’s in his boxers-old-Christian-rock-band-shirt pyjama combo, which technically isn’t outdoor wear, but _like I give a shit_.

He hasn’t seen James all day, partly out of luck and partly because of the sheer terror ( _and cowardice_ ) that Chris continues to suffer from, leading him to avoid As Much Contact As Possible with anyone, going as far as to skip dinner.

_I’ll grab a poptart or something later, they were made for all meals._

This is the first time since the morning he’s not suffering from being on the edge of a heart attack, thinking about what on _earth_ James could want to talk to him about. It’s very normal. 

Of course, as the age old saying goes, all non-boy-related things must come to an end. 

James near enough falls out of the back door, hair sticking up on all ends and looking wilder than Connor’s does in the morning. 

“ _Chris_!” he says, catching his breath. “I’ve been looking for you, I want to— I want to chat with you, again.” 

“I know,” Chris mumbles. His heart has already begun to pick up speed, uncomfortably. 

James stands in front of him, looking nervous and uncomfortable and fidgety and _adorable_ , _so how he looks all the time anyway._

“I felt bad, for making you, um, upset, or whatever,” he looks at the ground, blushing furiously. “Because I know y-you didn’t _say_ that it was anything to— to do with _me_ , but I kinda thought it was.”

Chris swallows the lump in his throat. _Very astute._

“So. It took me ages to make this, I’m, um. I’m not as good at it as you are, I-I think I should’ve just made a cake or something, dammit—“ 

James stops talking to pull out a — _something_ from behind him. Chris is momentarily floored, and, for once in his life, speechless. 

It’s a paper chain. _A very crumpled paper chain, that better not have been in your pocket, you silly boy._

Chris zones out of James babbling. He feels the weirdest buzz in his chest when he sees it, and he stands up, still clutching the sheet around his shoulders, and steps forward so they are almost toe to toe. 

“—and so I made _this_ , except I-I kinda forgot how _you_ did it, and it looks kinda—” 

Chris takes it, and places _incredibly wonky, shabbily made, torn-in-places_ chain over his head. James stops talking for a second and stares, then smiles, embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck. 

“It’s stupid, I know, it’s a bit childish, but at the time I thought—“

“James.”

“—well, I guess I didn’t really _think_ , per say, but I guess—“

“ _James_ , shut up for a second,” Chris says, trying not to laugh and/or cry at the same time. “This is lovely, it, uh. It means a lot.” 

James smiles tiredly, and rocks backwards and forwards on his feet, cheeks pink. _I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Adorable._

“Really?” James asks, quietly.

And that’s it. 

It is getting dark, and the air is cooling. Chris is in his pyjamas, and James is in his shirt, and Chris is tired, and James is beautiful and kind, and this is the cutest gesture that Chris has ever received, and this is all _too much_.

So, instead of answering, Chris leans forward and up a bit onto the balls of his feet _because okay maybe I’m a bit short_ and kisses him. 

_Kisses him._ Chris can’t help it, he just _does it_ — one minute, he’s losing himself in James’ lovely face, thinking _well this is it then_ , and the next he’s closed the small gap between them, pressing his mouth gingerly against James’ upper lip. 

It’s awkward, for a second, _like everything we do together_ , because Chris still has one hand holding his blanket around his shoulders, the other balled in a fist and shaking slightly. His mind has gone completely blank, and James is stood stiffly, and it probably doesn’t seem like the most _fairytale_ kiss in the world.

But then James oh-so-tentatively puts one hand on Chris’ cheek and _kisses back_. 

When Chris moves back a bit, when his mind starts to catch up to what he’s doing, James follows him, and Chris drops his blanket now so that he can wrap both arms around James’ neck and kiss him properly. _Oh my god._

There’s a thumb stroking along Chris’ jaw, and a hand gripping at Chris’ elbow. The places where James’ skin touches Chris burns, in the weirdest way that gives him goosebumps running up and down his spine. It’s probably the most magical thing that has ever happened to Chris. 

James breathes out, shuddering slightly, and Chris pulls them closer together, desperate to enjoy this before James pushes him away or before James says _no thank you_ or before James—. 

James is licking at his mouth, as if he actually knows what he’s doing, and Chris _moans_ , ever so quietly, because _magical sh-magical_ , it is definitely the _hottest_ thing that has ever happened to Chris, _ever_. 

He moves one hand to card through James’ soft hair, gently, and then grips, because _okay_ because James’ tongue is _in his mouth now_ , which he’s definitely never done before, and Chris can’t believe that he’d ever been too scared to kiss another boy.

Chris could have stayed like that for a million years, maybe more. They’re pressed together tightly enough that a voice at the back of Chris’ head is telling him that the paper chain is probably crushed beyond all recognition, but the sensation of James’ mouth moving against his own destroys any regret that Chris might have had about that.

It's been a long time since Chris has kissed anyone, and he kinda doubts James has _ever_ kissed anyone, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

James moves the hand that had been holding his face in place down to stroke at his neck, and Chris gasps lightly against his lips, and then—

And _then._

And then, there’s a loud _creak_ , the sound of the door, and Chris pulls back and jumps about a foot away in one smooth movement. 

_Shit shit shit shit what have I done oh f u c k_

It’s Arnold. _And Kevin Price._ Because of course. 

_Holy fucking shit fuck what should I say what_

“Oh, hey guys! Are we interrupting anything?” Arnold looks delighted to have found them. Kevin’s eyes are narrowed, like he knows something was just going on, but he isn’t 100% sure what.

It’s like a scene in a sitcom; Chris says “no” as James says “yes”. _Which is a totally unsuspicious thing to do._ It would almost be funny if it weren’t for the puppy-dog eyes Chris is faced with from James. He looks… 

Chris can’t tell. _Lost? Confused? Hopeful?_

“You, um. We weren’t doing anything, guys, what’s up?” Chris says, trying to sound casual. The last thing he wants right now is to be faced by a questioning by this unstoppable duo.

_Sad? Angry?_

In any case, it seems _totally unsuspicious_ to Arnold, who beams at the ruffled pair happily. 

_If Kevin were capable of an emotion other than feeling superior then he’d probably also be smiling happily right now, totally obliviously._ (This is what Chris wants to think, but Kevin Price is not a complete idiot, and has a pretty good idea of what might have just been happening.)

“Aw, great! Naba and Sylvia just came round, we were gonna watch a movie,” Arnold chirps, the oblivious fool that he is not taking in the two red faces.

"Yeah, you up for a movie, _Christopher?_ ," Kevin interjects, winking unnecessarily. _Oh you're a little shit._

James stares at Chris, obviously not listening. “Chris?” 

_Heartbroken?_

Chris winces to himself, and it takes a lot of effort not to start crying, when his eyes are beginning to burn. 

He _really_ doesn’t want to response to any of the things that he presumes are running through the other’s head, like _what are you saying something did just happen_ or _okay so I didn’t actually mean to kiss you back I just kinda got caught in the moment there_ or _but we’re still friends, right_ or even _so, do paper chains turn you on, Chris?_

“Yeah, we’ll, uh. Watch a movie with you guys,” he forces out, smiling waveringly at Arnold. Arnold beams in response, and leaves as swiftly as he had entered. Kevin lingers for a second, staring at the pair, then follows suit, muttering something undoubtedly obscene under his breath.

_Whatever you just called me, you are far worse, Elder Price._

Chris’ shoulders slump, and goes to follow them in. 

“Chris, _wait_ ,” James says, and Chris looks back at him, heart beating heavily. 

They stare at each other for a second, and suddenly time is passing a lot slower. _Please say something James I feel like a right jackass right now please James_

“Um. Your blanket. You dropped it,” James says — no, _whispers_ — as he holds it out, and Chris’ eyes flicker downwards. He hadn’t even noticed him pick it up. 

He takes it, and opens his mouth to say thanks, but nothing comes out. 

James stands, stiffly, for a moment, then all but runs inside. Chris deflates. _He totally seems mad at me, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why._

Chris doesn’t seem James for the rest of the night.

_So much for avoiding awkward encounters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw lol <3 i think this chapter might be a wee bit shorter? not sure. hopefully it's grand :) 
> 
> I actually don't think Connor was in this chapter :O let us all take a moment to think about him
> 
> ...
> 
> Moment over! Apologies for another late upd8, i'm on my hols in the US of A and much as i would love to write thousands of words of these boys being cute it's kinda weird doing it in a hostel w other folks around :O i did think about trying to incorporate all the many cowboy hats and boots that i've been subject to ;) but i feel like this was not the time for it 
> 
> So I haven't proofread this one but i'm desperate to get it posted so if i go over it again over the wkend and make any small edits then you'll know it's bc I'm a terrible editor :)
> 
> Yes next chapter should be the last but i think i'll put up an extra one, as like a mini epilogue or smthng! :O 
> 
> Happy May everyone x


	10. Connor's just doing his job being a dick (but he's right)

The _talk_ that Chris receives from Connor when a certain someone inevitably tells him what he _thinks_ he might have interrupted ( _and it’s not like you have any proof Kevin_ ) is… something. 

It occurs after a couple of the longest days of Chris’ life, (second only to when his sister had passed). Previously, James 'ignoring' him in reality involved a lot of blushing and going all cutesy and endearing. Now, he won’t even look Chris in the eye — and it _kills_. 

_And we were getting so close to being… something._

Chris repeats the _kiss_ in his head over and over, and it sets his nerves on fire. He imagines what might have happened if Kevin and Arnold had not walked outside — if instead, James would have blushed some more, and they would have actually _talked_ , or if they’d have just stayed there and kissed some more, or perhaps gone inside, and into Chris’ room, and locked the door…

It is thoughts like these that leave Chris more uncomfortable than any other, fidgeting where he sits or stands, skin prickling and heart racing, and wishing he had the ability to handle things a little better than simply pretending like it didn’t happen.

Every time they cross paths for the next couple of days, be it in the kitchen, or on Chris’ way to get some work done, or out for a walk, or even just going to sit in the living room, James will jump, and look pointedly at anything else, desperately seeking an escape or an excuse to leave, and this is more painful to Chris than anything.

And, of course, with eyes like a hawk (and a boyfriend eager to gossip), it is only a matter of time before Connor turns on him. 

The duo are sat in Chris and Connor's bedroom, along with a certain Special Boy, enjoying a bit of relaxation time on what was shaping up to be a fairly dull Sunday. Chris lays sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling from his bed, fingers playing idly with a certain crushed paper chain and Connor and Kevin are busy doing whatever it is that cute couples do these days on Connor’s. 

It’s so peaceful and calm, _why does_ he _have to ruin this now._

“Hey, Kev, hon, um, would you mind maybe… leaving? For a bit? I think Chris and I need to have a little chat,” Connor breaks the amicable silence completely unprompted and out of the blue (as he often does anyway). Kevin, who up till this point had been enjoying having his head in his boyfriend’s lap and his hair played with, has never been so offended in all his life that Connor wants him out of the room.

Nothing has ever sounded so ominous to Chris before, and he hands over his eyes because _this is exactly what I do not need right now _.__

Unfortunately for Chris, Connor is Connor, (as has probably been said a million times before), and he always gets his way; the sound of Kevin’s retreating, sulky footsteps make the perfect backdrop as Connor stands and puts his hands on his hips. Chris is more than a little terrified, as he sits up and braces himself. 

“Christopher. Thomas.” he starts, plainly, and Chris winces at the sound of his full name. _No good conversation has every started this way._

“What is this I have heard about you and a certain _James Church_? I thought that you and I had a _very_ pleasant conversation not long ago, so perhaps you would like to explain to me why, exactly, the poor boy has been on the verge of tears and won’t talk to anyone? And why you have been acting like a moody _child_? You’ve really been putting Kevin to shame, you know.” 

When Chris is silent, cos _God I feel like such a dick_ , Connor huffs, and steps forward so he can crouch in front of Chris’ bed. 

“Christopher,” he says, voice warning, sounding uncannily like Chris’ mother, and Chris flinches. _Yeah, I’m not getting out of this one._

“I may have, um. Kissed him. And, um,” Chris shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at his companion, ”and then, uh, _your boyfriend_ kinda walked in on us, and, um. Yeah.” _End of story, really._

“ _Aaaaaaaand?_ ” Connor demands. 

_Or not._

Chris sighs. 

“ _And_ , I may have freaked out just a little bit, because I kinda… well, it was a shock, and a bit embarrassing!” Chris says, defensively, and Connor rolls his eyes, as if to say _typical_. “And… and he seems really upset about it, and I don’t know what to do.” 

Apparently Connor does, because he reaches forward and clips Chris around the head hard enough that Chris nearly sees stars. 

_Ow what the fuck I’m gonna kick the living shit out of you Connor McKin—_

“You. Are. An. _Idiot_ , Christopher. I think you know exactly what to do, and it does not involve sitting in here _moping_ like a 15 year old,” he chides, before standing, stretching, and returning to his bed. 

_Okay, um. Talk over?_

The pair sit together for a long moment, Connor humming happily to himself and Chris trying to decide if it would truly be so simple just to talk to James, or if instead it would be easier to leave and go back to America and never speak to anyone ever again. 

_Maybe some sort of witness protection programme is the thing for me, hmm..._

His thoughts are broken for the millionth time by a moany voice that Chris _really_ kind of hates coming from the other side of their bedroom door. 

“Can I come back in?” 

_So much for Kevin leaving, the cheeky bastard._

Without waiting for an answer, Kevin saunters back in, collapsing onto Connor dramatically, and then it’s back to being Chris, his miserable thoughts, and _McPricely_ over there; the classic combination, that everyone has grown to know and love. 

_I hate it when Connor is right._

__———_ _

__Chris doesn’t go to dinner that night, choosing instead to stay in his room and pace, trying to decide what exactly he should do._ _

_What should I say? How do I say it? What if he doesn’t like me, or what if he actually hates me, or what if_

“What are you doing?” 

Chris spins, and there he is, _James Church_ , standing in the doorway. 

_Oh God I can’t do this I can’t_

His face is pale and sad, as it has been the past few days, but the soft, orange glow of the overhead lamp makes his dark hair seem a like it has little golden hairs woven into it, and _God_ he looks so angelic, in his white shirt, _always the white shirt, James.._. Chris nearly forgets all of his panic in favour of swooning, _but that wouldn’t be like me to swoon, now, would it?_

Chris stares at him for God only knows how long, whilst James stares at the window, and the floor, and everything else, until he steps properly into the room, closing the door gently behind him. He won’t look him in the eye, and Chris can’t look away. 

_James, the thing is… James, I wanted to… James, I…_

__“I, um. Matthew s-said I should come and talk to you, or whatever. I don’t, um. I don’t know what exactly he knows, but…” James breathes in shakily, as though he is about to cry, and Chris steps forward before he can stop himself._ _

_Well, it is nice to know I’m not the only one with a nosy bastard for a companion, but… God, what can I…_

“James, I’m sorry for freaking out the day—“ he begins, trying very hard to keep his voice from wavering, and James still won’t meet his eyes, _please look at me, James._

__“It’s f-fine, Chris, I get it, i-it was just a mistake, you didn’t mean it, you just want to be friends,” James recites almost blandly, but the devastation in his face strikes an arrow right through Chris’ heart._ _

_At least we were both kinda thinking the same thing_ , Chris thinks bitterly, but shakes his head adamantly. _Con’s right, I gotta fix this, right now._

__“James, can you just… Can I explain?” he tries, and James’ face twists a little in despair._ _

“Explain why you _kissed me_ , and then _freaked out_ , and then acted like it _didn’t happen?_ ” James bursts, and the way his voice cracks a little betrays that no, he is not okay at all. _Fuck._

Chris blinks back a tear, but he can’t help but let out a small chuckle as he looks up to the sky, to the Heavenly Father he doesn’t really believe in anymore, and thinks _Oh Lord have mercy._

“Of course I freaked out, James — Kevin _Jackass_ Price was right there! _Any_ reasonable human would freak out if their first kiss with a… with a _cute boy_ was interrupted by a guy who probably fantasises about doing _stuff_ with Mickey Mouse at night,” he gesticulates, and has to take a deep breath to avoid freaking out again. James stiffens, looking shell-shocked, eyebrows creased, and _at long last_ he looks at him. 

The look of genuine, wide-eyed surprise makes Chris’ brain short circuit for a second, as he almost loses himself just staring at that wonderful face. _I could stare forever._

"I’ve… I’ve thought about kissing you a million times, in a million places, and none of them involved that complete _disgrace_ of a human being there,” Chris continues, slowly, with his eyes on the floor now so that he can try and concentrate on his words. “I just… I wanted it to be perfect.” 

His heart is hammering so hard he thinks he might be sick, and he has never understood the phrase “butterflies in your stomach” until now, _oh god should I just go or_

James shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Chris allows himself to look up at him, again. The fear and sadness and all the other terrible things Chris has made him feel has drained from his face, replaced with… Chris hopes that it is something good. _Is it something good?_

For a moment, the only sound is of the buzzing of the light, and of crickets outside. Chris' head spins, feeling nervous, and a little like he is dreaming, and _oh, right, maybe I should have had dinner._ The fact that James always looks just _so good_ , if anything, makes him feel worse, knowing that he probably looks a bit stressed and sweaty and like he might throw up at any moment.

“And,” he goes on in the silence, before he can chicken out again, “I’ve never felt like this before, and I... I don't really know what's going on, between us, but I think that it is _something_ , and I guess I was… I’m just a little bit scared, and… I’m sorry.” 

__James blinks, and bites his lip._ _

__“So, you… you…” he whispers, eyes raking over Chris almost desperately, looking for a clue, hands flexing nervously by his sides._ _

“Yes, I wanted to _kiss you_ ,” Chris finishes for him, in the same hushed tone, and, acting more confidently than he feels, inches forward so they are almost nose to nose. He can see a couple of tears in James’ lashes, and the way they make his eyes sparkle make Chris' own eyes go all blurry. 

James giggles. “I-I was going to say, _so you think I’m cute_ ,” he teases, lightly. His smile is a little watery, but he is finally _smiling_ , and Chris has never fancied him more. 

His eyes flicker away, again, to his left, to Chris' bed, and smiles impossibly wider.

"You kept that... that _rubbish_ paper chain I made you," he says, in genuine surprise, and his voice cracks a little again, but not in the sad way that had broken Chris' heart not even a moment earlier. Chris blushes in response, and when James looks back at him again, there is a light in his eyes that Chris doesn't think he has ever seen before. 

So... So, you really like me?" James asks, and it is just the weirdest question to Chris, because _isn't it obvious?_

He wipes a hand down his face, and can’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. James has the nerve to look annoyed by how lightly Chris is apparently taking this, and looks down, flushing. _Oh my god, we really are such idiots._

He brings one hand up so he can hold James’ chin, drawing his face up gently, rubbing his thumb on his skin. James’ eyelids flicker, and he looks into Chris’ eyes, properly. Chris almost faints as he feels James’ own breath on his lips, and he cannot help but stare at his mouth for a moment, feeling this invisible pull that he wants desperately to succumb to. 

“Yes, you silly boy, I really, _really_ like you,” he states, looking back up to his eyes, sounding a lot braver than he feels. _God_ , they’re standing so close, and it is amazing how with a simple curl upwards of the lip that James is able to make him feel just a little more relaxed, even with his heart beating at the pace it is. 

__

“Chris, I’m gonna kiss you now,” James whispers, plainly, and Chris swears he has a heart attack right there and then. 

__

___Their noses bump, and James finally places his hands on Chris’ waist, fingers pressing tightly through his t-shirt and keeping Chris from actually fainting. There is still the tiniest part of Chris that is convinced that James is going to go, “Haha, I was kidding, joke’s on you,” and he shuts his eyes._ _ _

__

When he finally works up the courage to whisper, “ _Please_ , James,” there is only really one thing for the other boy to do. 

__

It is maybe not as noticeably passionate or messy as their previous kiss, what with James smiling a little too much, and Chris’ palms being a little sweaty, but _this_ , this is absolutely _perfect_. 

__

James presses a gentle, _so gentle_ kiss to Chris’ upper lip, and another, and a slightly harder one to his lower lip, and then a million more, until Chris thinks his lips might go numb and _it will be worth it._

__

Chris moves the hand that had been holding James' chin lightly to lightly move over his hair, his neck, his shoulders, and snakes the other one over James' _wow_ surprisingly toned chest, and over his other shoulder, and he knows in that moment that this is what he wants to do all day everyday, for the rest of his life. 

The light is still flickering, and the air is a little too warm, and there is still that weird buzzing in the background, but James _hmms_ contentedly and shuffles the last couple of inches forward so that there is literally no space between them, and Chris shifts his neck a little to reach that soft mouth. There is probably not a more perfect setting than right there in the mission hut, where it all began. 

It could have lasted forever, until James breaks away suddenly, keeping his hands gripping Chris' waist. Chris pouts, not enjoying this sudden space between them. 

__

___“I really, really like you too, by the way. J-just in case that wasn’t, uh, clear,” he says, bright red. Chris just giggles and pulls him back in._ _ _

__

_God, do I hate it when Connor is right._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all so so welcome ;) 
> 
> i've decided that yes there shall be one more (probably slightly shorter) chapter but this i think feels more like the end bc everything has been resolved! My precious bois! 
> 
> Still on holiday in US of A... wow it's so hot.. so big... how do you all live like this :O
> 
> As with everything in my life, don't be surprised if i come back tomorrow and make some wee edits ;) but flip i was so eager to get this out there... these stupid stupid boys...


	11. Connor doesn't give a shit anymore bc these bois are eejits (The End)

Mondays. 

They are, usually, a day of truce and solidarity between Chris and Kevin, but today is different (in a good way, for once).

_Do I normally sleep with my shirt off?_

Chris opens his eyes blearily, blinks, and shuts them again. This thought quickly changes to _well, I guess it’s warmer in here than usual_ , and _is it really Monday already?_ , and finally, _I didn’t realise how small this bed was_ , before he opens his eyes again. 

_Oh yeah._

He’s sprawled on his back in bed, pressed against the wall and with his arm flung out, and a very unconscious James Church lying half across him, legs all tangled with his own and face pressed into Chris’ arm. 

It should probably be uncomfortable, but Chris has never felt so relaxed before. 

He stays still for a long moment, looking down at the top of James’ head ( _for once_ ), and then moves the hand that is not currently trapped under the other boy’s body to play tentatively with that lovely soft hair. 

_Fuck, I want to wake up like this everyday._

He doesn’t know how much time passes before James shifts, and tightens his grip around Chris’ waist. He feels him kiss the top of his shoulder gently, _so gently_. Chris’ heart picks up so fast he is certain James must feel it, and breathes out a little shakily through his nose. 

James kisses his shoulder again, and Chris smiles, before scooting down the bed so their faces are level. The look of surprise in realising that Chris is also awake makes an already seemingly perfect morning a million times more amazing, and Chris has never felt so strongly for another person before. It takes all his will power not to explode with pure _happiness_ right there and then.

“Hey,” Chris whispers instead, and James kisses the tip of his nose. 

“Hi,” comes the quiet response, and Chris _beams_.

 _Thank you Connor McKinley, for not coming in last night and ruining this for me._ If there is one thing that Kevin Price is actually good for, then it is for providing Connor with an alternative bedroom, which Chris has never had to appreciate before (but now I am oh so glad).

“Hello,” he whispers again, playfully, and James bites his own lip to stop himself from smiling too much. Chris runs his hand down James’ arm and loops his fingers around his wrist, enjoying how the other boy's muscles flex a little under his touch. 

“We should probably get up,” Chris continues, quietly, and James _hmms_ in agreement. He stares at him, eyes flickering, and Chris can see him internally debating with himself (as a nervous boy like James tends to do a lot).

 _God, and he has such lovely eyes._ Chris never wants to look away. Even if his back is pressed a little too uncomfortably against the wall, and the parts of their legs that are entangled with the blanket are all hot and sweaty, and there are probably an infinite number of locations more romantic than this one, this is without a doubt the happiest that Chris has been since they arrived in Uganda. 

Before he can ask him ‘what’s up’, James rolls on top of him, slowly, and kisses him, just once, before pressing him firmly enough into the bed and doing such incredible things with his tongue _and I’m pretty sure that_ that _is illegal in this country, James Church,_ that Chris completely forgets why they would ever need to leave. He sinks into the mattress as his hands move gently over soft, sweaty, skin, and lets James do things to his neck that will probably leave it red and bruised and shiny with spit. 

The whole thing is just so against their old rules, it's almost hilarious. It is getting increasingly harder not to moan, and there is something so surreal about doing... _this_ in the early morning light that makes Chris think that maybe he is still dreaming. 

_James looks and feels and sounds too much like something from Heaven to be real. Right?_

It isn't long before Chris actually _does_ let out a moan, just a soft one, _and surely it's too early on a Monday to be making a noise like that_. James grins against his neck, and scrapes his teeth over his pulse point lightly, planting open-mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach and gripping one of Chris' hands tightly on the pillow while his other hand moves _elsewhere_.

Chris shudders. _He knows what he's doing to me, right?_

He cannot resist flipping them over, switching their positions, and framing James' face with his arms. Chris stares down at him properly, drinking in the sight of the ruffled bed head and wet mouth, slightly open as he gasps lightly, and he is _in my bed._. Chris smiles, to himself, and leans down.

_God, I am glad that Connor slept over with Kevin tonight._

———

They do, eventually, find themselves in the kitchen, with James borrowing one of Kevin’s many discarded t-shirts ( _”Won’t he mind, Chris?” “Nah, I don’t think he’ll notice”_ ) and both of them strolling around the hut in their boxers (a sight which Chris likes to imagine would give Connor a mini heart attack if they were still following the rules).

Despite it being 7.30 on a Monday morning, they are still the only ones up, as though the world, for once, wants them to be alone just a little longer, and rest of the household has chosen today of all days to be _lazy, lazy bastards._

_…Not that I’ve ever slept in or anything, nope, not me._

James busies himself with putting water in the kettle and fetching mugs, whilst Chris leans on his elbow on the counter, watching him.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he says, suddenly, as a thought pops into his head, and his mouth starts working before his brain can tell him to actually think about what he’s saying.

James nods, not looking over.

“It’s, um. That day, a while ago, the day I kissed you,” _cue James blushing_ , “I don’t know if you remember, but, you were outside, on the fence? You seemed kinda… upset, I guess — it was when Davis asked out Sylvia?”

James nods, slowly, and glances over at him, puzzled. 

Chris swallows. “I dunno if it’s rude for me to ask, but… what was up? You didn’t seem super happy to talk to me or anything.”

Of all the responses, Chris doesn’t expect James to chuckle at that. _Sure, laugh at Christopher, why don’t you._ He steps back from the kettle closer to Chris, and pecks him on the lips. _Or that._

Chris continues (or tries to). “I mean, I don’t know if — can I ask you that now? I mean, are we… like, now, are—“ _of course I will be the sputtery, nervous one now that we’ve actually gotten together._

“I’m always happy to talk to you, Chris, I was just…” James cuts him off, gently, and looks down, going that wonderful shade of pinky-red that Chris has grown so used to, “I was just jealous of Matt, that he asked Sylvia out, when I kinda wanted to ask _you_ out, for a long time.“ James’ face goes impossibly redder. “Since, um, we left the Church, but we were never friends, back then, at least, and then when we were — and Matt just _did it_ , so easily, but I, um, I was too nervous to.”

 _Oh._

James turns back to the now-boiled kettle, embarrassed to have spoken more than just a string of ten-or-so words in a row like he normally does, and pours the water in to his mug. Chris tries not to chuckle, and bites his tongue. _That is adorable — and also, samesies._

Just because he can, Chris steps forward as well, to kiss James’ shoulder, once, twice, thrice for good luck, mimicking James’ own actions from earlier. _I may be short, but I am the perfect height to reach here_. He rests his forehead there for a moment, while James giggles nervously and finishes stirring his tea. 

“I felt — _feel_ — the same, actually,” Chris says, quietly, into the fabric of James’ (Kevin’s) shirt. James doesn’t respond verbally, but he does turn his head to kiss the top of his head. Chris can feel him smiling, and he smiles too. _Okay, so maybe actually saying things out loud isn't so bad, after all._

Putting the spoon down delicately on the countertop, James turns so now they are facing each other, and wraps both arms around Chris’ waist. 

“Really?” James asks, blinking, and it seems like such a stupid question given their position that Chris laughs again. 

“Of course I do, have you _met_ you? You’re perfect,” Chris says, and James blushes ( _I should really make a drinking game for every time he blushes_ ).

Chris tilts his face up expectantly. James giggles again and plants a kiss on his forehead. Chris scowls. 

“Jaaames,” he says, almost as petulantly as the Next-In-Line-To-Be-The-Voice-Of-God sounds at all hours of the day, and James relents, stooping slightly to kiss him properly. 

It’s just as domestic as making cookies in their pyjamas had felt, except _so much_ better, and Chris is so addicted it hurts. He cups James’ face with both hands, a little overwhelmed suddenly that _I get to do this now_ , and tries not to smile too much as he kisses back, trying to pour all the things he’s still a little too afraid to say out loud into the kiss.

They are just getting into it properly, when, for what feels like the millionth time (and probably is), someone walks from the hallway, breaking yet another perfect moment. _Several someones._

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Arnold screeches, mouth falling open as he leaps dramatically into the room. Naba, Connor and Kevin, all still in their pyjamas as well, trail in lazily behind him, looking completely disinterested (apart from that annoying smirk that has been present on Connor’s face _a lot_ recently, but that’s no longer anything new). 

Chris allows his head to fall against James’ chest as he curses any deity that comes to mind, because _isn’t this just perfect fucking timing._

James has stiffened slightly, obviously not really one for too much PDA or any sort of audience, and Chris reaches for his hand, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Can we help you?” Chris asks, eventually, forcing himself to take a step backwards out of James’ space and face the foursome properly, keeping their fingers laced together. 

No, wait — the _six_ -some, now, as Neeley and Schrader decide to wander in, also from the direction of the bedrooms, obviously curious as to what the minor commotion is about. _Nosey buggers._

“Wh— ARE YOU GUYS DATING?!” Arnold gapes, head moving from Chris to James to Kevin to Naba and back again so fast, Chris fears his neck may snap. 

There’s a split second of silence, _cos I think given the situation, Oh Prophet, it’s kinda obvious_ , and then the only one of them that _truly_ loves the sound of his own voice starts talking.

“How could you _not know_?” Kevin says, haughtily. “ _We_ have all known about this forever.” He looks around the others for support, but Naba is busying herself in the kitchen and Connor has sat himself down with the Book of Arnold at the table, clearly deeming the situation unworthy of his attention. 

“Right, um… Carl?” Kevin asks, and Chris can see in his eyes that he’s just _devastated_ not to have the support of the two _actual_ voices of reason for once.

_Wait. Carl?_

Kevin asks this last question pointedly to Neeley, still in the doorway, who stares at him blankly. 

“Who’s Carl?” Neeley asks, voicing the question on Chris’ mind.

Kevin falters. “Wh— isn’t your name Carl?”

“Um. No, I’m Mark— you guys all think my name is Carl?”

Kevin waves his hand dismissively. “Sorry, I was just trying to include someone from outside the inner circle for a change.” 

Neeley gapes. “There’s an _inner circle_?” 

“Just answer the damn question, Carl!” Arnold jumps up and down, getting over-excited. 

Neeley’s shoulders slump. “I mean, yeah, Poptarts and Church are, like, borderline worse than the whole McPricely thing that’s been going on, I guess. I— yes, it’s pretty obvious.” 

Kevin smiles sweetly. “Thank you, Caaaarl,” he says tunefully, and turns back to his companion, face looking almost wicked. _God I hate him._

“Guess I’m Carl, now,” Neeley mutters darkly to himself, as Schrader pats him sympathetically on the back. 

_Get over yourself, Carl._

Arnold opens his mouth to say Lord only knows what, but Naba, _my saviour, sweet Naba_ , stands and hits him hard across the chest with a _thwack_. 

“No more questions from you, just let these nice white boys be happy together. It is none of your business what they get up to,” she chides him, and Chris has never loved her more. 

“Well, hang on, it’s kind of _my_ business,” says Connor, suddenly all interested again, looking up from his reading. “He’s _my_ companion, after all.” _And I have never hated you more._

“Yeah, and mine, too!” comes a voice from down the corridor, and _I guess Davis is listening, then._

“Well, if Connor gets to know what goes on between them, then _I_ have a right to know, t— hey, is he wearing my shirt?” Kevin’s never-ending self-centred mindset interrupts his own sentence, as he points at James but stares angrily at Chris, _because who else would have stolen it?_ “Stop taking my shit, Chris!” 

“Don’t leave your shit in my room, Kevin,” Chris replies airily. He could so easily have allowed himself to be dragged into an argument, but James grips his hand a little tighter and he decides, _for once_ , not to antagonise Kevin any further.

This just sets Arnold off again. 

“How come I don’t get to know anything? I’m the _prophet_!” he implores, and Naba starts on a tirade at him whilst Kevin continues pestering Connor, and Connor stares, openly amused, at Chris' neck, and Neeley in the corner argues with Schrader, and then Davis—

Later, Chris will swear he has an out of body experience during all this inane chatter and arguing and gossiping, until James tugs on his hand lightly and draws him closer. 

“Do you, um, maybe wanna go for a walk? We can go get some coffee, or— or breakfast, maybe, somewhere else, and, uh, skip our duties for the morning,” he says quietly, into Chris’ ear, and Chris’ heart flutters so fast he almost starts floating in the air.

“James Church, are you asking me on a date?” he says, smirking, but inside his stomach is flipping, because _this makes it official, right?_ “A date that means you will _skip_ your oh-so-important duties?” 

James blushes. “I— would that be—“ he shakes his head to himself. “Yes, I am.”

Chris _beams_ at him. “I would _love_ to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after 
> 
> Ahhhhhh such a long time since the last chapter, but this is it! The End! You're all so so welcome ;) and also thank you to everyone who's been commenting, it really means a lot <3 
> 
> Prizes for spotting the scene i blatantly stole, nearly word for word, from Brooklyn Nine-Nine :) the prize will be a million dollaroonies (if i can find a million) 
> 
> i just want these 2 to be happy wee boyf riends forever now <3 
> 
> so guess who saw BoM on broadway for literally the first time e v e r this week, that’s right, dis bitch :O i just cannot stop thinking about it omfgggggg Kevin Price is such a dick -- but also hot damn ;) my life is officially complete! just like this fic :/


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